A Horrible Reaction

by Turise

A herbology study about desiderium leads to an allergic reaction in Harry with grim consequences. He now has to face many new challenges, not to mention solve the mystery of exactly what happened in the hospital ward during his recovery. We visit Dudley in Smeltings and briefly meet a strangely helpful side of his family. New updates and a new ending as of 2020. Slash!

42. Chapter 42

'The End' - Part 4

July 2001.

Remus spent the first weeks outside of Hogwarts delicately visiting people he knew before the war; people with lycanthropy. He was invited in several times and was happy to see over half the werewolves in hiding he knew were looking so much better. Three of them had gotten full time jobs, and three more were venturing out more into the world.

The thing some of his old contacts had in common was that they were getting the Wolfsbane potion...for a very low cost. Another thing - after gentle prodding - he learned that they were receiving it from a Muggle-looking young man who Apparated to their homes. Several described him and every description sounded the same as the last: young, a hat, handsome, Muggle-looking.

Some knew others were being visited by the same bloke, and pretty soon Remus had a list of five people who were well informed even with each other that they had the same connection. None of them were willing to risk the full identity of this young man, but then again, none of them knew any more than what they were telling him.

And pretty soon Remus thought that would be the end of the lead, until one of the more cheerful of the lycanthropes gave him help.

They said, "I could see about getting you on the list, Remus. No promises, but if you're as fed up with those Ministry prices as I was...?"

Remus contemplated it for hardly a moment and then agreed.

"But...if it is no trouble, could we use a different name?"

"You needn't worry, really. But I understand...sure."

He left his address with this person, and they would write their contact. Remus would hear back soon if he was on the list for this month.

"And you gave them our real address?" Tonks asked sourly. "A fake name but our real address?!"

Remus felt helpless. "She was the only one willing to write her contact. I figure it's the best lead I could get you."

She may have gone a bit overboard after that as she upped the home defenses. But only three days later, Remus was given a call via the Flooplace from his lycanthrope acquaintance. The empty hearth had suddenly sprouted up green, and there a face floated.

"Hello, Remus. Am I intruding at a bad time?"

Tonks wasn't home, so indeed their timing was perfect.

"What have you heard from...you know..."

"So, he'll be arriving at your house in the evening. Usually just past four," the lycanthrope said, peeking around at his living room with interest. "I like the sofas. You look like you have a really comfortable place."

"My wife picked everything out," Remus confessed.

The lycanthrope smiled so warmly at him.

"I'm so happy you found someone, Remus. It really is a win for people like us when our lives are going well. I hope things stay this way for you."

"Thank you, Hilde," Remus responded.

The Flooplace grew dim then, as the connection was severed.

Remus looked out his window into the back garden, where the grey bricks and dull wooden fence were, where the bins and the dry grass sulked.

"I think we should visit the Muggle shops for some lawn care..." he muttered to himself.

Oddly enough, Tonks claimed her mother knew a thing or two about garden charms. Andromeda Tonks did have a green thumb, and quite the beautiful garden, too.

"I think you should ask them over," Remus said, referring to her mother and father, Ted.

"Are you seriously hoping to impress the black-market Wolfsbane potion distributer with our garden, Remus Lupin?!" Tonks demanded.

"Sort of...yeah," he said honestly.

Soon after. July 31, 2001. Morning.

Harry was lounging on the bed in his room, or rather, the Malfoy's bedroom, which he had been sleeping in all these years. The 'luxury' of this bedroom had slowly transformed from regal decor into a knickknack shop of items. The shelves in front of the books had so much clutter that the titles were obscured in most places, probably never to see the light of day so long as he resided here. He had nearly the complete collection Trick Wands, which were now becoming limited editions and collectables from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He usually bought two of each, so that he could try one out.

Besides the fact that he was going to be twenty-one years old this week, Harry remained a fan of Quidditch as he had when he was still a peon in his cousin Dursleys' minds, so much of the room was filled with memorabilia, too. He bought from the Quidditch Supply Co. all the flying figurine Quidditch player collectables, with the most recent purchase being Victor Krum from Bulgaria. He also had three Doka Bandar's flying circles over his bedside table.

Also, he often came across magical fireworks and would set them off on the beach for some fun after-dark firework displays; the local Muggles tended to 'ooh' and 'awe' at them...Harry would do it up the beach a ways so as not to call attention to his little haven here at Jūtėars 4a.

Harry hadn't been coy when it came to buying things he liked. He also had pile of unwrapped chocolate bars and a few magical XXX helpers he'd discovered in a shop in Germany - but he kept these hidden in drawers.

Harry was trying to read through a new Quidditch book that he now held up in front of him, but he wasn't sure if he would finish this book or not; it inferred rather negatively on some of the riskier moves made by players, which Harry always found the most stimulating during a game.

It was a sunny, hot Tuesday morning here in June, and all Harry wanted was to be left alone to read. But even he knew the full moon was up next week, and that Narcissa was coming by any minute now. He was absorbed in the chapter about players using transfiguration during a match when he heard the noise from the kitchen, knowing now that he had guests. Footsteps were closely followed by urgent knocking on the door. Harry couldn't ignore it.

"Come on!" Draco Malfoy bellowed from the other side, sounding irritated. "I know you're not sleeping! And you get enough sex with Doka to not be doing that! Couldn't you at least have prepared some of the ingredients!"

"Fucking hell, Malfoy," Harry admonished, tossing his book down and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He stomped over to the door.

Draco was lucky that Harry knew how to take being disturbed with polite candor. He slapped his hand onto the door handle and instantly was in the face of his pale yet handsome childhood enemy.

"What the hell are you so moody about, huh?" He demanded, irritated.

Draco immediately grabbed his shirt and pulled his stiff form on through to the kitchen.

"We need you in the kitchen! You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" he claimed of Harry.

Draco about tossed him into the kitchen, then gave him a long-suffering look.

"Me?" Harry asked. "I'm just relaxing on my day off flying around Herbologists and putting up with bureaucrats like you! Hi, Narcissa," Harry added at the end.

She was swishing her wand around, pulling out the eight black cauldrons they used especially for this potion each month. These sat under the counter, safely awaiting each month's new potions.

"Hello, Harry," she replied calmly, in her own way ignoring Draco's antics.

Draco wasn't finished.

"You think people like me are annoying? Do you think I enjoy our own transportation officials hounding me and bickering to me about 'concealment of property' and 'watching out for thieves' when I go out to meetings? No one appreciates you lot, let alone when you get a day off!" He had done a lot of air-bunny ears to indicate his support of Harry's profession vs. his own. "Come on, P-O-T-T-E-R, we have another two deliveries that I only just arranged! We'll need your help with the ingredients."

It still sometimes had such a frustrating effect on Draco: Narcissa's Binding potion treatment that forced him to not be able to say Harry's name. He had discovered that spelling it worked, and did so whenever he felt like abusing Harry like the good old days.

"Draco!" Harry looked unbelieving, because had he really just heard Draco right? "What did you say? You definitely need to consult with me before you just add two new deliveries! You know that I'm the one having to Apparate to these places! I can't do that if I haven't been to the address before!"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"There's plenty of time while the potion is brewing. Don't complain; I've had a bit of a busy week of my own, scar face, and I just need you to help me out a little and just deal with it."

Harry's mouth dropped and he was now gawking at Draco.

It was really like the old days now.

"What did you call me, prick?!" Harry started in, grabbing hold of that expensive shirt Draco decided to wear today.

"Scar face! Oh, don't give me shit! You are full of scars! Whatever!"

That's when Narcissa raised her voice at the two of them, and her wand.

"Draco! Enough! Both of you! Enough!"

They weren't just little boys any more. Harry was twenty-one today, and Draco wasn't far off that mark, either. They stood taller, broader, and well more muscled than her, but she wasn't at all afraid to step between them and wave her wand, sweeping clear away from each other and to either side of the kitchen. The cupboard doors bounced open and closed, too.

The two felt her venom as she glared at them.

It was Draco who got the viper's bite first, though.

"Don't comment on Harry's scars! I don't ever - ever - want you to say a bad word about them again! You have some idea of the things Harry has been through. Merlin, Draco," and here her voice deepened and quieted, "you have some idea, don't you? Don't you?"

She was furious with him, standing there with her wand clenched tightly in her fist.

Draco's breath had swallowed, and he nodded at last. He looked at Harry with softer eyes.

"Yes. Sorry, Mother. Sorry - you know -" Harry.

Harry nodded even while he looked away, wiping his hand over his cheek, rubbing against the awkward skin that was out of place. It was hard - after five years - to remember the pain. But the events were history for the few who cared to know.

"I'm sorry, too," Narcissa said to Harry, coming over and cupping her hand over Harry's that was against his face. Their eyes spoke together to say they were both sorry: Harry for his scars, and Narcissa for being unable to change anything. "We should have come sooner, but there was no time now. And Draco, -" she was quite forceful with her tone, "- there is no rushing this potion, so no matter how you feel about your girlfriend breaking up with you, I need you to be perfect at this. Do you understand?"

Hearing now the reason for his terrible attitude, Harry could finally put his finger on why Draco was being impossible today. Usually things were done with candor around here; this was just odd.

"Your girlfriend broke up with you?"

Draco looked aggrieved and next spoke with a sour tone.

"I said it isn't any of his business, didn't I, Mother? It really isn't, is it? He's all the way the hell over here and not exactly the person I go to for advice anyway. He had no business knowing!"

"He does when you take it out on him like this!" She turned back to Harry again. "Draco has the addresses of the new clients, and you can go out now to make sure you can Apparate to them safely. Draco and I can handle the ingredients."

"Mother!"

"Would you like to have him Splinch while he is out in the middle of London delivering Wolfsbane potion?!"

Harry felt honestly worried about this...it would mean visiting the Muggle parts of London during the day, hailing a cab to get him to the new addresses and paying in Muggle money, too. This was the sort of thing he did in the middle of the night to avoid crowds...not to mention he'd just use the quiet Knight Bus and enjoy himself a little in the old city by walking around, too.

"I'm..." Harry hesitated, then stepped away. "I'm going to get changed then. Have the addresses?"

Draco looked scornful.

"Yes. Here -" he passed over a piece of parchment.

As Harry left the room to go get ready to check out the addresses, he was thinking quietly for a moment about how this was a rather a more normal day with the Dursleys than it was these past few years with the Malfoys.

It didn't take him long to get changed into Muggle clothes, drink his Beautification potion and have a sip of the Abjuration of Bane. He looked anew at his reflection, which now hid the many scars he had moments before. He was reminded of his trepidation that first day he left Malfoy Manor, as Narcissa had him sitting in front of a mirror in view of his horrible scars then, too. The relief he felt now upon seeing them disappear was the same as that day.

He dabbed the eye color changing potion on a bit more forcefully, garnering a more brown than blue with the thickness. He rubbed a bit off with his thumb and the magic altered, leaving them light blue.

He couldn't believe Draco had taken such anger out on him. Why was Draco mad in the first place that his girlfriend dumped him? He could finally start to date someone he actually liked this next time around.

He didn't have much time to contemplate this, though; he had work to do.

"Stupid Malfoy," Harry whispered, leaving the mirror and going over to get his Muggle trainers on.

The one very non-Muggle thing about what he put on next was the leather strap that he put his left arm through, that then buckled across his chest and had the latch behind it for his Firebolt. He put this on today - unlike any time before - because he wouldn't be able to risk the moment it took to put it on after re-arriving home. If each delivery took just over a minute, and since it took about three just to make it back to the twin girls' house in Finland, he couldn't risk even a moment's delay. He'd leave his Firebolt here for now, and only snap it into place once he was headed off to the girls to give them their potion while they were home for the summer.

Draco adding new clients onto the list wasn't new. He had done so from time to time, but this would bring the new number of deliveries up to sixteen now. The potion needed to be drank soon after completion; any more than this and they'd have to consider a second delivery method altogether.

It wasn't easy. Harry knew the risks. But he couldn't say no. He just couldn't.

"Will you be alright?" Narcissa asked him as he came back into the kitchen fully dressed.

He decided to downplay his mood.

"A day in London's traffic?" He replied with as much of a smile as he could. He wagged his wand a bit in his hand. "As peachy as this."

She always liked the soft down on his wand. She accepted the kiss Harry gave her on her cheek and went back to cutting ingredients.

Harry was about to reach for the Portkey and completely ignore Draco, but that's when he remembered...he remembered that life was short.

He pulled his hand back and looked behind him. Draco had been watching and tore his eyes away, turning his back.

Harry went to him and gripped his shoulder, leaning in really close to his face.

"Forget girls," Harry said sweetly.

Draco couldn't help smiling. The look they shared was of mutual understanding about loss of a relationship, though. Harry ruffled Draco's hair in a way he knew the potioneer hated, then left via Portkey.

The hours went by. He had gone to Malfoy Manor and from there Apparated into an alleyway nearby to one of the further drop-offs he did each month. What was Draco thinking forcing him to do this many Apparations in the expanse of half an hour? He was really risking a lot this time. But again...how could he say no? These people needed him.

The first house he went to was small and quite remote. He did his usual walk-around of the property on the main roads, trying to blend in even though the streets didn't really accommodate for pedestrians. He went to a church to get some high ground for a view over the area, then walked back to the residence. He looked around a bit more, then he tested his theory and Apparated into another alleyway nearby another familiar delivery.

The whole cab drive to the final new place Harry concentrated on the order of things. He had to tie these into his regular regimen, which was easy enough, but the distancing was the real issue. He watched the cab fare meter rise as the miles increased. In the end, it wasn't a terribly far jump, but it sure was a dense Muggle neighborhood; he'd have a hard time staying unseen on the entry unless they had a large fence or shrubs.

Harry was dropped off a ways out and circled inward, getting the lay of the land first. It wasn't the sort of neighborhood of people without money, which begged the question of why he was delivering here. Perhaps they needed to stay off the Ministry lists and were unregistered...Harry hadn't thought to ask Draco before he left; too caught up in their fight.

But in the end there was a tall fence hiding the back yard from view. He peeked in through some slats, over the bins and into a nicely growing garden. The house, too, was well kept and large, a mixture of brick and darkly painted wood. He didn't dare linger, and carried on walking. He made it to a deserted spot down the lane that was shaded by great oaks before finally he risked Apparation again.

He went to a familiar house on his route, then finally feeling the connection to these two new places on his Apparation route, he decided that this house would be his sixth stop, and the other new one would be his third. In total, it would be a good fit in terms of distancing the Apparations closely.

Harry went from this other familiar place back to Malfoy Manor.

How rare it was to be at Malfoy Manor without the need for a rush. Harry stuck his head out the small door from the secret courtyard, looking into Narcissa's and Lucius's shower. He risked entering the residence for just a peek into the bedroom, but still, Lucius must have been deeper in the house. He wasn't willing to break and enter just for a chat, and went back to Portkey home.

He would visit Lucius later.

He placed his hand back on the Portkey.

Interim.

There was a knock at the door. That alone was a frightening concept.

The mother and son stared at each other in shock, until another knock brought them out of it.

They both went to the window that would show clearly the figure who stood on the front step of the cottage. For a moment, everything was quiet. The ticking of the kitchen clock, even the waves of the ocean seemed mute. It was almost as if the house and the planet was holding its breath. Narcissa could even hear Severus Snape sigh as he stood there on the other side of the door, a little exhale that sounded oddly vulnerable.

She gave Draco a look that was clearly of more surprise than ever before, and went to the door. It opened slowly, and there she stood speechless.

"I'm a renown potioneer...so are you going to let me in to help you?" he asked, characteristically severe.

She realized that she was hunching over, curling around her own physical surprise at seeing this man at her Unplottable house by the sea. She straightened defiantly. This was Severus Snape! This was a man that she had faith in!

"There's always room for help!" She didn't mean to shout that.

And neither did Draco mean to shout in a horrified reply, "Mother!"

It was amazing how a man who was so cocky most of the time could look so humbled by her acceptance just then. She also caved like a house elf bowing to its master, and opened the door wide for him.

Snape walked into the house and looked around. His eyes roamed the cluttered surfaces, the plants that had grown wildly along the window sills, and spotted her son standing still as a statue behind her.

"I can't believe it!" Draco exclaimed when their eyes locked.

Narcissa closed the door and spoke to her own disbelief about the imposing man standing before her.

"Harry's been rather close-mouthed lately, which means it would likely be something either more dangerous than he'd let on...or something like this."

Snape smirked as he turned to her, eyebrow raised in dharma. "Are you calling me just unexpected? Not both dangerous and unexpected?"

The little she did know about Severus Snape was enough to know that - when it involved holding his own to Lord Voldemort - he was alike to crime bosses and dirty dealings and advanced duels. Yes, dangerous was a word that should always be used to describe Severus.

"My apologies if I offended you," she was smiling now, though.

He was a sight for sore eyes above all else.

Snape also found a smile to return to her. "So...is he not here right now? And if not, where is he?"

Resume.

The sudden pull behind his naval, the compressed feeling that was so familiar, and then the sound of bubbling potions brewing restored within Harry the sense of comfort and home. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the salty air.

"Finished, then?" Narcissa asked from behind him.

Harry released his breath in a deep contented sigh.

"I tried to see if Lucius was around -" he began to confess, finally turning around. But mid-motion his eyes landed on the dark figure standing over a cauldron, and Harry's stomach clenched like it was being tugged again by the Portkey again. His vision didn't blur, though, and neither did he lose the firm pressure under his feet. He wasn't falling, either.

He was just in sudden shock.

The dark figure - black shoulder-length hair, black robes, dark eyes - was staring into the bubbling cauldron as he stirred. Harry was left speechless upon the sight of Severus Snape, here in his house and brewing with Narcissa and Draco.

He had left the two behind some three hours before. He never expected to return to this.

Narcissa was also stirring her cauldron, but she was polite enough to spare him a few words even as her mind was still focused on the brew. "He's working on his draft for the book. He'd be in his office right now, and wouldn't want to be disturbed."

Harry had known the book was a new and serious project of Lucius's, but heard nothing more about it.

Draco was working over two cauldrons next to Snape, also looking down into the depths of the cauldron as he stirred.

"He won't even talk about it with me," Draco confessed to Lucius's new hobby.

Narcissa said agreeably, "It's very personal to him; he's keeping it from me, too."

The room returned to silence as the three potion brewers hovered over their concoctions. Harry remained standing like an outcast, eyes held firmly on Snape.

As if he sensed them, the potions professor of Hogwarts looked up but remained stoically silent.

Harry swallowed the frog in his throat and wiped his brow under his black beanie, right over his lightning bolt shaped scar.

Silence remained besides the sound of the breaking waves and the snapping fires below the bubbling cauldrons. Harry felt the mood in the room was companionable...even practiced. It was as if the nature of having their first houseguest ever went past sudden and unexpected into the realm of ordinary.

Harry took his first steps towards Snape, their eyes still locked upon each other. He went over and checked out the potions. Upon the table next to each brew were perfectly chopped ingredients ready to be added as the next step. Harry had figured they'd be barely keeping up with the brews, but it appeared that now they were well ahead of the game.

It was quite shocking that he'd taken Harry up on the offer to come and help brew.

Harry met Snape's eyes again.

"It's almost done," Harry observed, recognizing the step they were on.

"Indeed," Snape replied, "it will be done around ten past, if we stay uninterrupted."

Harry heard the old snipe that use to be so very commonly said in class back at Hogwarts. But for whatever reason, it didn't hit him so hard today. He looked at the clock.

"Well...I'd better get ready to go."

"Be quick," Narcissa said, still quite neutral.

Harry looked at her now, only just getting the feeling that the awkwardness wasn't actually absent - it was just hidden under the necessity of the brewing Wolfsbane potion.

Harry set his hands out on the table in front of him, not willing to move from the face of Snape just yet. He remembered Snape just like this from years ago. Snape's hair was again over his face and his hands were stained with the preparation of the ingredients. Snape had prided himself as being immune to many worldly activities such as the social gathering he was at now. When did he decide to willingly visit? Was it purposefully done on this occasion, on this day they were to brew the Wolfsbane potion? Probably. He had after all won a Notable Magical Names award for teaching this potion to others. He knew when the potion had to begin, and knew also (thanks to the Veritaserum Harry had taken) that they were always in need of help to brew it.

Harry figured Snape being more of the type to commit murder before coming to visit him. How the times had changed.

"Your eyes are burning a hole in my head," Snape said just then.

Harry quickly licked his dry lips. He took a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. He was still paler than he had been before leaving Malfoy Manor, but the color was slowly coming back to his face.

"I can't believe you came," he said quietly.

The two Malfoy's were watching them now, and it was clear they were quite interested in this exchange.

"You invited me," Snape said matter-of-factly.

Harry nodded. "But still...I can't believe you came. Thank you. We had a lot on our plate today. It looks like your help was needed."

Snape quirked the side of his mouth and - yeah - maybe it reached his eyes and maybe - maybe - it was a real smile.

Harry straightened up and snorted softly. Draco and Narcissa both looked turbulent, to which he winced in sympathy. "I...guess it worked out?"

Narcissa didn't say anything, but Draco scowled. "Can't believe the first person you told was Professor Snape."

Harry looked at Narcissa, who was looking softheartedly at Snape compared to how Draco appeared.

"I trust him, like you do," Harry said, really meaning only to speak to Narcissa.

She returned her gaze to him and at last appeared favorable. "Go get ready, Harry. The potion is almost done."

Soon enough, Harry was back in place to begin the deliveries. He wore a Muggle ball cap and a simple red t-shirt with the word 'Fire' written on the front, and jeans with rips on the thighs. He rather liked the sneer Snape gave him when he saw his chosen attire.

The potions were poured into their glasses.

"We'll all be waiting for you when you get back," Narcissa said, loading the potion carrying case into his magic traveling bag.

Harry felt the pending implication of that - yes, it was his birthday after all. It made him feel a little giddy. Her light blue eyes pierced him as the promise was made.

"Alright, see you in half an hour, then," he replied. And to Snape, he said, "Bye, Professor. Glad you came." His tone of voice was a little more mischievous than before; he wondered if Snape knew it was his birthday? He would certainly enjoy seeing the look on his face when he blew out the promised candles on the chocolate cake - his requested flavor, as the order for it had been taken the week before.

Snape signed resolutely, but didn't respond. Maybe...maybe he was thinking of a reply, though. Harry assumed even just thinking about acknowledging him was still stressful for the older man.

"Good luck," Draco said with his arms crossed as Harry went to the Portkey.

And he was off.

The order he delivers in matters only in that he be within easy Apparation range, but he had a habit of starting in the west and moving east. The pattern with these two new houses wouldn't change that, it would just stretch things out. He knew he was distracted to begin with, and that that would slow him down, but he was happy the first new person didn't hold him up with any questions; he must have gotten the point from Draco's stealthy letters not to do that.

"Until next time," bade goodbye his current longstanding client after the new one, whom he'd been offering potions to for a year now. She passed back the empty Wolfsbane cup.

Harry stowed the cup away and nodded kindly.

Then he took an easy breath and closed his eyes, concentrating on his second new site. Once this one was over, it was back to business. He spent an extra moment focusing - putting out of his mind the simple fact that he had a new house guest - and just trying to get through this.

It was his sixth landing and nothing was uneasy about that new backyard, on that green grass, in that garden of freshly bloomed flowers...but when he saw who waited for him there, it stopped being easy at all.

Harry landed in that new neighborhood - the rather posh one - next to the straight row of bins, just on the other side of the fence he had peeked through. His eyes were drawn to the sudden movement of someone sitting in a chair in the shade by the back door. Harry was hardly fifteen feet away, so he clearly saw who it was.

Remus sat alone by his own back door, seemingly patiently waiting for his delivery.

The leap of Harry's heart to his throat almost choked him, and again, the fall of his stomach to his knees nearly collapsed him. It was worse now than seeing Snape in his kitchen, brewing with the Malfoys.

This was so much worse.

Remus looked relieved to see him; of course he did, because he wouldn't have recognized the man who turned twenty-one years old today; the man with the charms disguising him and the brimmed ball cap that kept his face in shadow against that burning sun. The man who Remus hadn't seen in four years and thought dead.

Harry looked left and right for - for everything. For Aurors, for an ambush, for...everyone.

Auror Tonks lives here!

His mind was racing.

What is happening?!

For his own part, Remus was calm. When he heard the pop of the Apparation, he'd looked over to see a young man in Muggle clothes, just as described to him by the other werewolves. He had a blue brimmed hat and his long hair was pulled back. He had a recognizable strap across his chest that was often worn by Quidditch players to store their broom; it may have been the only thing that gave him away for being a wizard (besides the fact he Apparated in).

Remus rose from his seat, galleon in hand.

For Harry in that moment, the colors of the brightly painted flowers bathed in sunlight began to smear, and the straight-lined bins just to his right became blurry. There was a high-pitched sound beginning to ring in his ears. When Remus stood up, that was when Harry realized he couldn't do this. He was on a tight schedule for one, and he needed to stay calm or splinching was going to be a real concern.

When Remus started walking towards him, the payment of the gold galleon glinting in his hand, Harry rushed it. He was delivering Wolfsbane to who he knew was a werewolf, and he just couldn't bring himself to Apparate away without leaving the potion behind. But he couldn't let Remus get close. And he didn't want that galleon. That galleon of Sirius's. That galleon he'd left Remus in the Last Will.

Harry drove his hand into his pocket and set the Wolfsbane potion quickly onto the bin lid by his side. He hadn't even looked back after his hand released the potion; he Apparated away instantly.

At first his disorientation was complete. But then the air around him heated up so he knew he had arrived under the sunshine of summer. A moment after, he became aware of the hard surface of the ground pressing him up along his shins; he had collapsed upon his knees. He felt the grass against the palms of his hands.

The remote home next to a dark wooded forest housed a middle aged lycanthrope woman who was never unhappy to see him. Harry's body had Apparated here...but not in the same state he had left in. He was on her dry grass lawn with a strange twinge in his gut. He pressed his hand to his stomach and coughed.

"Oh no!" said the voice of the woman as she rushed toward him.

She had seen him arrive, seen him fall, seen him hack up shiny red liquid.

Harry swiped his arm across his mouth and reached instantly for his potion bag, bringing out the Wolfsbane. Her hand wrapped around the potion as an afterthought, because she was wholly concerned with the dribbling of blood from the corner of his mouth. Harry noticed the swipe of blood along his forearm, which he had swept from his own lips.

Harry gasped, nearly unable to catch his breath.

"You're bleeding!" She said urgently, reaching forward and cupping his face in her hands, holding awkwardly to her Wolfsbane potion.

Harry shook his head at her concern, brushing her hands away.

He tried to speak, but his voice was just a gasp with what breath he had left in his lungs. He reached in a personalized pocket where he kept a healing potion - the same used to repair his wounds at the Bladquester's - and spilled it into his mouth. It worked instantly, but he knew it wouldn't hold forever.

This was going to hurt.

With a final, tearful look at the witch to make sure she wasn't too near, he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his stomach, then Apparated away.

It wasn't what his training with Lucius taught him was the right thing to do. If he'd done that, he would have returned home. But he had been delivering to these people for so many months - over a year for some of them - and so what was he meant to do? Just leave them without their first dose? Not show up? Let them miss the cycle and transform with ripping, searing pain into the beast that controlled them every full moon?

Yes. He knew the answer was yes. He was splinched! He should have returned for proper treatment.

But instead he arrived on the next bed of dry grass, at the home of the lycanthrope couple. He barely seized the reality of doubling over and choking blood upon the green.

Just like the solo woman, the two shouted in concern, running to him. They were upon him, gripping his arms and lifting him from his bundled state. Harry met their eyes with tears in his own, his mouth dripping blood. His limb shook as he pulled out two potions in one gloved hand.

"Kid - I mean - really?! You've splinched!" The man's words were as piercing as his gaze.

He shoved the Wolfsbane into the man's hands and brought the healing potion - still open - back to his lips. He downed two gulps and then shrugged his shoulder, encouraging the woman to dislodge her hold on him.

He didn't wait when she pulled her hands away.

He especially didn't bother with their coins.

He Apparated away, appearing at the next house while still crouched and heaved more blood from his mouth, the healing potion still in his hand automatically coming up to his mouth and pouring in. His watery eyes looked up at the sky; it was shady here, whereas it was sunny in the other part of town. His eyes found the man who was his next delivery, rushing forward on stiff legs as he stared in wide-eyed concern of Harry.

Harry pulled out the Wolfsbane potion and held it out. The older man took it from his twitchy grasp, and then reached forward as the others had. But Harry didn't wait around to be taken hold of.

He vomited after each arrival, sipped the healing potion that would sew his insides together, only to deliver each Wolfsbane potion and Apparate away again, ripping himself apart again. He was shaky and silent. It wasn't unheard of that these things sometimes needed to be quite speedy, but Harry was a bolt of lightning. Though his other clients couldn't say they knew him well, they knew he was going beyond measure to deliver these. Each time, he regained just enough composure to send himself off again.

He'd made it at last to the final man, and had drank at last the final sip left of the healing potion.

His whole front and lap were swathed in red blood. He'd never regained his footing after his initial fall. He couldn't speak, but if he could he would say, Damn it, Malfoy! Why Remus?! Why him?!

He was being stupid.

He was being reckless.

He was being a Gryffindor.

The gruff older man at his last delivery knelt down and lifted Harry's face, making eye contact as he took the Wolfsbane potion Harry offered. The new position caused lightning pain to wash up Harry's esophagus and a burst of blood came from his mouth and splattered over the other wizard's front. Somehow, the brim of Harry's hat was knocked and fell off behind him. Harry got to see the startled reaction from the old wizard. The world around him was narrowing, but it was the pain that was keeping him sharp enough to move again. Harry pushed the other away but was weak.

"Hold on, there -" begged the man urgently. "You're needing a hospital!"

Harry managed to slither out from his grasp and shoved him, forcing him to land back on the grass. Harry Apparated immediately back to Malfoy Manor, just in front of the Portkey. He slapped his hand onto it and was back home.

His consciousness didn't wait around for his arrival, though.

July 31, 2001. Evening.

With Harry's unconscious form appearing laid out and soaking red on the floor of the cottage, Narcissa froze. Her eyes wracked him, remembering the twisted form of the snake that looped around him, compressing those many, many wounds of his. There was no such snake, just his red shirt soaked further in blood.

Her horror filled eyes turned to the men in the room.

Snape reacted first. "Get whatever potions you have for this!"

His words spurred her into action. She rushed over to a cupboard and took out a wooden case. She collapsed onto her knees by Harry's side, the case clacking hard on the wooden floor. Snape and Draco were right by her side as from within the contents were seen. They were potion bottles with labels like Severed Limb, Blindness, Switched Limbs... She grabbed one labeled Internal Bleeding, leaving the others.

"A splinching kit?" Snape asked.

"Yes! We've been prepared for this from the start," her voice wavered even still.

She uncorked the potion and lifted his head, pouring it within. A harsh black steam rose from where it landed.

Draco looked over Harry's body and saw the potion bottle gripped in his lax hand. He picked it up and smelled the contents, then jumped back to his feet and went again to that cupboard. Where the bottle had fallen, Severus Snape picked it up and smelled it as well.

"Healing Dash?"

Draco nodded, rummaging about quickly.

"Yes, and we've got more of it!"

He came back suddenly with the potion, ready to pour it into Harry's mouth after the one Narcissa just had. But both Narcissa and Snape grabbed his wrist.

"Don't mix them," the two said together.

Then Snape said more, voice harsh, "Never mix a healing potion after a remedy; only beforehand can you drink one of them."

"But you can see he's really hurt!"

Not for the first time, both Narcissa and Snape cursed the foolhardiness of Draco. He just had to be so young, so inexperienced, so willing to use the most powerful tools at his disposal without knowing the consequences of them. At Hogwarts, he could be monitored for such behavior; at home, it was only lucky that he was.

Panic tumbled like a tossed pair of dice in Narcissa's chest as she held the unconscious body close. Her mind went back farther still, to the time when she saw this boy screaming in pain at the torture from Voldemort.

Snape met her eyes, his gaze piercing her like the hooks that once pierced Harry's. He flinched minutely, seeing the memories within her mind. He had never borne witness to this before - only heard about it third-hand...but the glimpse he got was enough.

Narcissa blinked and looked away, as if knowing Snape saw what she was remembering.

"Draco," she said urgently. Her eyes landed heavily onto him. "You'll have to deliver the final batch," she said seriously.

"Me?!"

She grabbed him and squeezed his hand tightly. "Do it quickly! The potion only has minutes left."

"They'll see my face!" he protested.

She pointed to the table, to where the potions and the Firebolt were waiting for Harry to pick them up.

"They won't know you!"

"I don't know which house!"

"It's the only house!" She shouted. "Go! You know it's what he'd want!"

"The risk will be great if he is recognized," Snape said clearly, taking Draco's side.

Narcissa spared him a glare, then froze Draco with her icy wrath. "They're just little girls, Draco! Go help them, now!"

Draco looked down at Harry's bloodied form. Snape had just turned his face and wiped a glop of blood away from Harry's nose that had just come from his mouth, making it so he could still breathe.

"He's such a fucking moron!" Draco's anger seethed from between his teeth, but he arose and gathered up the items from the table, then turned to the Portkey and left, off to deliver to the two girls.

Without having asked of any of the clients before now, Snape inquired, "Little girls?"

Narcissa looked aching, as if the day was most painful for her.

"Not all of our clients pay. The children get the potion for free," her voice was hoarse, and now she was squeezing Harry tightly.

The words held a wealth of meaning. It meant Harry was still an obnoxious Gryffindor, sacrificing himself for the sake of others. This, too...this splinching could only have produced this amount of blood if it had happened some time ago. It meant Harry was risking his life, which he only did when he was helping others. It actually less shocked Snape and more made him flinch at the sight: because wasn't it just a horrible sight to see someone as selfless as this?

Snape kept one hand on Harry's pulse at his neck, and the other he raised to grip her arm kindly.

"We'll administer the Healing Dash in just a minute. He'll be alright."

"You have no idea..." she spoke quietly, trying to quell her own heart, "seeing him like this... I thought - with careful planning - we wouldn't have to risk things like this happening. On his birthday, of all days! And on the day you show up!"

Snape was startled.

"His birthday?"

But his words were lost on her. She felt too cold inside.

"It must have something to do with you...nothing like this has happened before. Every year that passes is one more success...one more year of redemption for Lucius and I. We - you know - we helped the Dark Lord so much when he returned; it was hard for Harry to get over that and forgive us. Seeing you today...maybe it was too much for him...he couldn't focus like he usually does..."

Snape hummed, his deep voice reverberating as his thoughts coalesced.

"No, Narcissa. Don't blame me like this. We choose our own paths. While I chose to prevent some of the Dark Lord's plans, even directly subverting him, I long ago stopped being a factor in this boy's mental state. He knows which side of the war I was always on."

She choked on a laugh.

Snape nodded, eyes falling down back to Harry's blood-coated face.

"We all had our reasons for our behavior during the war. You had yours; it was to keep Draco safe. You also had your reasons when you hid...Harry...from the Wizarding World, too. You have it now while you save him again."

She looked up from Harry's stabilizing form. The silence held until Harry's breathing stopped sounding so wet. Narcissa gripped Harry's hand and pulled it close to her mouth, kissing the back of it. With her other hand, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Draco's taking his time..." she muttered.

And as if on cue, the Portkey activated. Draco returned and stood just feet away from them. He was startled to find them still on the floor.

"What are you still doing with him there?! At least lay him on his bed!"

He led the charge in floating Harry from the floor on into his bedroom. Narcissa did the honor of cleaning the blood off of him, and Snape went so far as to carry the potions into that room. While the two Malfoy's kept watch over his form, Snape entered Harry's bathroom and gathered a basin of hot water and a towel, returning to his side. Draco took over again then, and swathed Harry's face carefully.

"Wake up, come on..." Draco muttered. "There's a cake in the fridge we brought from home. This was going to be a decent birthday we had with you..."

From her position standing by the bed, Narcissa met Snape's eyes again, appearing disappointed to no ends.

Snape narrowed his gaze, reading into her. "Since you opened the door to me, you haven't been wholly surprised by my being here."

She had no idea why, but she smiled a little. "You weren't my first guess on who would find out first, but lately I've know something was coming. Harry's been distracted...looking into people from his past. I would have thought it would have been one of his old friends."

"Not Weasley or Granger," Draco said firmly, "he's too embarrassed to go near them."

"Then Neville Longbottom, maybe. They've been getting close."

Draco cringed. "Really? He still hangs out with that dork at work?"

Snape - having interrogated Harry - knew about Neville. And though he didn't confirm this, he knew Narcissa was spot-on in her assumptions: Harry had always kept watch of his old classmates and people who once interested him, Neville Longbottom especially.

Just then, Harry cringed and began to shake.

"He's waking up!" Draco called.

Harry's eyes opened and landed upon his face, first.

"Oh good. You're not dead," Draco said acidly.

It was as if a Golden Snitch had been flitting around Draco's neck, because Harry's claw-like hand swept out and grabbed him there in a flash. Draco choked instantly, gripping the hand to pull it off. Narcissa and Snape came in close, both ready to put a stop to it.

Harry's eyes were fierce as he drove daggers into Draco.

"Why did you do it?!" Harry's voice was raw and grainy. "Why Remus?! Why did you have me deliver to him?!"

Draco was in shock.

"Harry?! Calm down!" Narcissa demanded, trying to break his connection.

Harry was gnashing his teeth, face wrinkled like a snarl. And Draco looked frightened.

Still with a voice like rocks being rubbed together, not as shouty as he hoped, Harry spoke again.

"How?! He had me deliver to Remus! Why him?! Why?! He has the money to buy the potion from the Ministry! And he has Snape to make it for him! And his wife is an Auror! How could you?!"

"STOP!" Bellowed Narcissa, pulling him off her son. "Stop it, Harry!"

Snape ultimately was the one to dislodge Harry and push Draco away. He took Draco's place on the side of the bed and went about examining Harry for more wounds. He took his pulse and waved over Harry's body for a few medical results.

Narcissa held Draco, who was sweating now, eyes wide and dilated.

"Draco? Is that why this happened? You had him deliver to someone he knew?"

"I...I cleared it," Draco confessed, although without confidence. "I wouldn't have sent him to anyone he knew. I cleared it. If I'd known...I wouldn't have!"

Snape then pressed the hot towel against Harry's head. Even without Occulmency, Snape could see the acute awareness of - perhaps - his proximity upsetting The Boy Who Lived.

"If it's my presence, I can leave," Snape said.

Harry shook his head and muttered in a hoarse tone, "Just what do you think of me? I'm not a little kid anymore. Stay all you want."

Snape was still looming, perhaps just because that was his way, or perhaps to make Harry rethink his offer.

Harry squeezed his eyes closed and asked, "Just get me some Calming Drought, would you?"

Snape turned to the others and nearly stood to go rummaging in the cupboards, but Narcissa crowded him. She went for the bedside table and opened the top drawer. In it, rolling around freely, were three potions. One, a luscious and glowing red potion that was used to increase pleasure - at least one person in this room could attest to also owning a little bottle of this. The second, a clear bottle of nothing magical, just lubrication. And the third, the familiar bottled form of the Calming Drought.

She took that and slammed the drawer closed, rattling the rest of the contents.

"You always have some close by, don't you?" She asked him as she passed it over.

Harry sipped freely from it, falling into the stupor of the Calming Drought's affects.

As his eyes closed, his head nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered, sounding better, seeming ready to fall into a total relaxed state, but then he sprang to life again and gasped, "The girls!"

Narcissa pushed him down and laid her hand over his brow.

"Draco took care of it - lay down. Come on, relax."

Draco and the others stayed there another minute, but it was clear that sleep was pulling Harry away from them. They left his room.

Out again in the main room, they stood around.

It was Draco who spoke first.

"I haven't seen him have a problem with people in a long time."

Narcissa sighed. "Since it wasn't you that caused this trouble...I owe you an apology, Severus."

"Forget it. No apology needed. But if it was Remus Lupin that he saw, that does explain why he would have lost focus. It must have been hard on him, as Remus is probably the only father figure he has left in this world."

"How would you know?"

Snape clarified without giving too much away. "He was part of the group of friends of his real father's. I went to school with the lot of them. He left half his wealth in his Final Will to him, too. Remus also speaks about him at Hogwarts. So clearly, there would be lingering thoughts."

"He hasn't lost it like this in a long time," Draco stated firmly.

"Lupin is special to him, then," Snape reiterated.

Narcissa held his gaze firmly.

"Maybe..." she said at last, finally sounding close to her normal self once again. "And maybe it's about time you explain just how the two of you met."

Draco looked from one to the other, rolled his eyes, and broke off the posturing to head towards the kitchen.

"I'll get the tea on my own, just don't leave me out of the details."

Later that night.

Draco sent an untraceable letter to Remus. It was delivered by a rented brown owl. Remus was expecting it.

Remus read out loud after he unfolded the parchment.

"'Remus Lupin, that will conclude our dealing. Better luck elsewhere.'"

Remus released the parchment when it lit ablaze.

The husband and wife looked at each other. She had just come back from delivering the potion to the mages at her work who could test it. Honestly, she didn't expect anything foul from it. She had been in the house watching the whole time and thought what Remus also did: that the only thing not right about the whole thing was that the delivery person recognized Remus - recognized that he'd been lied to. It was hot news last year that he would return to Hogwarts and oversee the werewolf children accepted to the school, and that they would all be taking the Wolfsbane potion while there.

"He was nice to leave it for you," she remarked. "He wouldn't have known you weren't going to drink it; gave you a chance to find a new source. Looks like using the false name was a good idea, too. From the looks of it, he wouldn't have come at all if he knew it was you."

"Do you think he just recognized my picture, or that he knew me?" Remus wondered, brow furrowed. "Because I think...he may have known me."

"We got what we wanted, though," she said casually. "Work will sample the potion for any errors. Who knows how those lab mages work; they may even find some origin of the ingredients."

Remus shook his head.

"It brews for so long; the structure of the plants disintegrate. Severus Snape told me that when I asked him about that man at St. Mungo's. He had this book about it and showed me pictures that - "

He stopped.

Tonks waited, wondering why.

"My god," Remus said suddenly, shocked beyond belief. He was up in an instant.

He went rushing for the closet. Within was storage, also where he kept his teaching supplies and other things he took from work. He opened a trunk and took out something from on top. It was a file of papers.

"What's that?" Tonks asked as he spread the documents over the table.

She lifted one page to see it was a student's homework assignment. The scrawled lettering was nice and loopy, like that was a young girl's. It was a graded test and she didn't do too badly.

"Janice Bladquester?" Tonks asked.

"There are twin girls in my first year class..." Remus was saying, shuffling through the pages and forgetting to finish his thought.

Tonks lifted another paper, the name at the top spelled 'Unis.'

"Why do you have all their tests? And...home work? And...all this? Don't you return it to them?"

Remus nodded, distracted as he kept looking.

"I duplicated them. I started to about halfway through the year. Something they kept hinting at made me do it...Sorry I never told you about it; it just didn't seem like either of our business. They're from Finland...a different Auror branch."

Tonks was holding a glop of pages and now looked up at him.

"Auror branch? What are you saying?"

"Found it!" Remus said at last, holding up a piece of paper. He held it out for her to see, and there was a doodle of a person, as drawn by a young child.

Tonks saw what could either be a man or a woman. With long hair, wearing scribbled in blue pants, black and white shoes, and most notably a badly traced red t-shirt with a word spelled on the front.

'Fire' it said.

Remus was breathless with excitement.

"What are the odds? I asked the class to draw their hero...and both girls drew him!"

He showed her the page from under this first, and there was a better drawing now of what was definitely a man hugging two girls with wolf tales and big smiles. The man had blue eyes and a green shirt without writing, but the same black and white shoes.

A great grin broke across her features.

"Well, looks like we're back in business!" She said in awe.

Remus shook his head. He had one idea left. He thought hard about it, but then spoke, "I've been to their house, you know. And if he's delivering their potions...then we know he'll be there tomorrow."

Tonks looked sternly at Remus.

"We can use this information, yes. We can follow this lead. We have every reason to arrest him; he's selling Ministry regulated potions."

Remus paled. He didn't mean to imply they bring him in!

Tonks took another breath and continued, "I can make contact with Finland tonight and we can have a group waiting to pick him up from their house, too."

"Tonks -!" Remus began, but she interrupted him.

"Or I can just have Aurors placed at each of your lycanthrope contact's houses and we can get him there."

Remus looked sadly in to his wife's stern gaze, which in that next heartbeat had softened into the caring woman he had fallen in love with years ago.

"Or - or, my love - we can forget about this. If that potion comes up perfectly fine then we can just let it go."

Remus looked instantly relieved. "You mean it?"

She nodded.

"If there is no evidence that he's the one who put that other man in St. Mungo's, then we'll let this go. The others - even these two girls - will keep getting their Wolfsbane potion cheaply. And this kid here -" she tapped the page with his likeness as illustrated by eleven year olds, "- will be free as a bird."

Remus had no intention - just like she didn't - of harming the distribution of the potions.

He looked once again at the pictures drawn of the hero.

"I can't believe it was this easy to find him," Remus said.

She smiled warmly and wrapped her arms around him.

"It wouldn't be easy for most people. It was just easy for you, because people trust you. Those girls trust you enough to share their secret hero. Your contacts trust you enough to share their source of Wolfsbane potion. Even now, I don't think you could do anything to cause more trouble than you did."

Mid August, 2001, the day Remus causes more trouble.

Remus of course heard the news: that the delivery person had splinched and yet delivered all the potions, holding himself together with some healing potion. He learned this after being contacted by his old acquaintance that first day. It seemed that while Remus's delivery went smoothly, his the other lycanthropes witnessed the gruesome result of a splinch. The person never took sale, didn't collect the bottles back, but made sure they had the potion brew.

Remus contacted this acquaintance again over the next few days, and learned that the very next day the potion was delivered via owls, although they were not marked by any Ministry or public use emblems, so they must have been private owned. These owls also did not accept payment and left the cups behind.

However, on the third day the young man was back to business.

"He said he was very sorry for the trouble he caused," recalled Remus's friend of what the young man had said as he made his delivery. They also asked Remus, "Did he say very much to you when he was making your delivery?"

This whole time, Remus hadn't told of his break with the contract. He told her something vague about their encounters, but deflected after that. The whole thing hurt Remus's heart to learn, as he had quite the feeling he was the cause for this trouble.

But a month had past and it was the week of deliveries again. Remus got out of his bed just in shorts and stretched. Summers made him weary, even after full nights of sleep. Really, he had less energy here compared to Hogwarts and only bad memories to dwell on when the house was quiet. Tonks had gone to work already, so his day started alone...just like he planned.

He was up to no good. He should actually talk to her about his plan, because of how risky it was...but he knew she'd want to come along, but there wasn't room for two where he was going.

He walked across the floor to his cabinet and reached in for a shirt. His eyes glanced at the mirror that was on the inside of the door and he cringed ever so slightly: he was getting on in years compared to his wife, thirteen years younger than him. He could no longer be a scout, a confidence man, or an enigma. He could only be a Defense teacher to children age eleven to seventeen; eighteen and nineteen in some cases. He could also be a husband thanks to Tonks; he'd never risk that fool heartedly; his plan today was tactful.

He could still be a brooding man, but no longer unsupported or mistrusted. Quite the contrary, he was rich now, praised by the wizarding world for fighting with the winning side during the war, and living in a beautiful home with a lovely wife. He could linger in a garden and see its beauty without rushing away when other people came by, and he could purchase food when he was hungry. He could live forever in this ambient atmosphere, truly. And there are times when doing nothing is the right reaction, but not in this case.

By ten in the morning, Remus had left the house.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place was not part of the inheritance Remus acquired after Harry died, even if the Black Vault was. The ancestral home of the Black family in the Borough of Islington, London, looked the same as last Remus laid eyes on it. Like his home, it was in a Muggle neighborhood, although a more stately one than his little cottage style home. It was quite the residence, and completely Unplottable except for people like him who had been granted its location via the Order of the Phoenix.

Seeing the house - just like spending any money - reminded Remus a little of Sirius, who was always so playful, so lively, so deserving of more than what he received from getting older. His years in Azkaban were a torment to Remus, who always thought he had lost everything on the day James and Lily died, and that that day would be the worst of it. Little did he know that for a short time, Remus would get Sirius back...and Peter back, too, which wasn't as nice. And then, for those few years back in the early '90's, he got that a little part of James back which resided in Harry...

Learning the truth of what Peter did as the Secret-Keeper of his friends was like a knife in the heart. And then there was the return of Voldemort, the return of Fenrir Greyback, the death of Harry...

"God, stop thinking already!" Remus muttered to himself, and finally walked up the stairs to the house. He knocked loudly and said equally in a muttering fashion, "Anyone home?"

He knew there would be one person home at least. He knew it would be Ron.

He didn't want to...but no one was answering. He used the door knocker.

As the knocker landed metal-on-metal, all at once there was a great screaming from within the house, followed also by the great bellowing of a man's voice.

"Shut up, you warped pure-blooded wombat!" and other such howling retorts were screamed back at the portrait that so famously greeted any guest of the house. Footsteps appeared close and the door was flung open. A massively tall and broad shouldered redhead stood behind the door, in pajama clothes and bare feet, with a look of venom in his eyes.

"Remus?! That fucking Permanent Sticking Charm has got to be the bane of my existence!" Ron turned back into the house and thundered, "It's a werewolf! I'm letting a werewolf half-blood in the house, you fucking portrait! He's stepping through the door -"

The howling kept on. Walburga Black's portrait remained disgusted by having anyone less than pure-blood in her home, and he swore the scream went up a pitch when she also learned he was a werewolf. Remus assumed the family house-elf, Kreacher, still believed in such things, as well.

"I didn't mean to let her know I was here!" Remus said as politely as he could while yelling over the portrait, stepping into the house.

Ron tossed a dismissive hand in the air and let the front door slam.

"They're all daffy, you know that! Would never dream of letting you stay outside! Come into the kitchen! You can only ever hear her in the hall anymore since we put up the Silencing charms!"

Remus looked around the place as he was delivered to the blissfully quiet kitchen and poured a tepid cup of coffee in a Chudley Cannons mug. The warmth of the house was clearly the work of the new household, done up nicely although in a very homely-Weasley way.

Also in the kitchen were two owls that Remus delighted in seeing again. The white snowy owl that was once Harry's was now owned by Ginny Weasley. It was perched with its head under its wing, quite asleep.

The second was just a little thing and was owned by Ron. It was Pig. He was wide awake and ruffled up, clearly quite sleepy as well, which must be a recent development that came with older age, because usually the thing was flying all over.

"Are your sister and brother still living here with you?" Remus asked his muttering host, still saying sour words about that portrait of the previous owner of the house.

Ron nodded and settled back into a place with coffee and an empty breakfast plate. His large hand wrapped around his mug and he took a sip.

"And how are you parents doing?" Remus also asked.

Ron shrugged broad shoulders and smiled, his intense blue eyes too young to even wrinkle in the corners, only now allowing any amount of relaxation to return to him; he was a high-strung Auror, no doubt.

"Cut it out already."

Remus had to smile in return.

"You caught me," he said softly, looking down into his coffee.

The silence in the room lasted awhile while Ron contemplated just why Remus had shown up at his house - he wasn't upset by being needed, nor upset for being visited only when he was needed. Remus was a willow tree of thoughts, but of no words yet.

It was Ron who broke the quiet.

"I can only imagine you here for two reasons. One, you want to know if we've had any luck finding Wormtail...which we haven't," a sneer past over his features, "the fucking little rat is trying to live out his miserable life, but we'll find him...I'll find him."

Remus cringed a bit.

"It's not all on you, Ron. You were a talented student, but finding a single rat Animagus in London is about as hard as finding one who's been on the lam for four years; it probably won't happen. He could be anywhere in the world."

Ron wasn't so much smiling any more as he was showing his biting canines.

"What have I got to lose in trying? Anyway, the other thing you might be here for is to tell me you're having a kid. About time. Tonks has been talking about it for ages."

Luckily it wasn't a hot cup of coffee, because it came a bit out of Remus's nose.

"What?! No!" Remus was shocked.

Ron didn't seem to be kidding, though. He looked disappointed. "No? Really?"

"No! It's the case! The Wolfsbane potion case!" Remus was wiping his shirt off where the coffee had dribbled.

A new glimmer came into Ron's eyes; he looked ages younger.

"I knew that! I'm just messing with you! But - well - not really. You know Tonks wants a kid. Where's the harm?"

It wasn't easy to allow such a thing. Remus had a lot of personal issues to get past before he allowed for something like that to happen. He made a mental note that she was talking about it with Ron, though. Who knew who else at work, too? He'd have to approach her with the topic again, he guessed.

"When did you start to care about such things?" Remus asked quietly.

Ron's eyes softened and he glanced away at nothing in particular. Tonks would say he was better than all the other recruits she'd seen yet, and so did a lot of other people, too. If anything remarkable happened on a case involving him, it would also be published in the Daily Prophet, too. Ron was somewhat of a celebrity there. He was famous from his return from Lord Voldemort's clutches, famous for his bravery, cunning, and strategy. Famous, too, for his grudge against the world.

"So," Ron said longwindedly. "The case. What do you want with it?"

It was now or never.

"Ron...I'd like to borrow something of yours. Something I believe you may have inherited along with this house..."

Ron's hands clenched into fists for the barest of moments. He stiffened up overall.

"I...know how hard it was for you, Ron. I know how much you lost those years ago. And I promise I won't allow any harm to come to it...but I would like to borrow that cloak. You know...the Invisibility Cloak."

Ron was silent and tight lipped, thinking hard about the request.

Remus looked away and smiled.

He reminisced, "I was eleven years old the first time I saw it. It was early on, back when it was just the three of us: James, Sirius, and me. We could all fit under it, even if it was a squeeze. We went to the kitchens for a midnight snack. I was so careful to keep my hands in my pockets...I kept imagining with them that close to me that I might accidently scratch one of them and curse them, too. You have no idea what having them in my life meant to me back then...means to me still."

Ron was unmoving for another moment, and then sighed heavily. Hopeful, Remus looked up.

Ron stood, nodding his head.

He beckoned with his hand.

"Come on, then. It's in my room."

Remus followed him up a small set of stairs off the kitchen so they wouldn't have to enter the hall with the - probably - still screaming portrait. They emerged on the first floor. There were a number of doors, one of which Ron went in. His personal space was unlike the house at large; Ron's room was sparse - everything kept put away. Everything tucked away and secret.

"Not a very telling room," Remus commented.

"Ginny sneaks in and pokes around while I'm away. I can't seem to convince her to stop."

Ron went to the closet door and opened it - closed it - tapped it with his wand - then opened it again, and only then did Remus smile, because that was more like Ron! The closet was half the size of the room, but it was orange, the color of the Quidditch team Chudley Cannons. Clearly Ron was still a fan. More so than just the coffee mug downstairs, Ron was a collector of figurines. They flew around in a long lasting game in that closet, seven little players on little brooms tossing little Quaffles around.

Remus chuckled.

Ron smiled despite his current task of trying to get to the back of the room.

"Like them?"

"Like them a lot."

Ron was magically moving a few things around, making room for a Hogwarts school trunk to emerge from the closet. It settled down in the middle of the barren room and Ron opened it.

Remus stepped up and looked in. It was Harry's school trunk, tidily organized just like the room here. Old school robes were folded nicely, books and old homework stacked, and a few bent quills tucked along the edges.

"It looks untouched," Remus noted.

"I put a Stasis charm on it years ago. Ginny had tossed it around and jumbled it all up, and I didn't want to fold all those clothes again."

He reached in and under that pile now, emerging with the silky Invisibility Cloak and something else...he passed both things over.

Remus took the cloak and...James's enchanted map of Hogwarts. Remus reverently held the map, which now had his full attention.

"I haven't seen this in years..." he uttered somewhere between a huff and a whisper.

The rebellious glint in Ron's eyes told Remus of the fun he may have had with it, too. It was perhaps the principle of the matter for the bearers of this map to break a few rules.

"Why not take it with you, Professor Lupin?"

"Oh! But I can't -"

"You can!" Ron stated, closing the trunk lid now with a thunk. "It just sits up here! You're back at Hogwarts now, so with you it'll be used properly."

Remus pressed the map against his chest and looked with such strong emotion at Ron. The youthful Auror earnestly desired Remus to take it, that was clear. There wasn't any motive behind it - not of purging old memories nor of favoring him with a treat; Ron was doing what was logical. It reflected in Ron's blue eyes that he was still hurting from it all, though.

"Thank you," Remus said sincerely.

"You can have that map, but I'd like the cloak back when you're finished with it."

"Are you going to ask me what I'll be doing with it?"

Ron shrugged but appeared unconcerned. "Something dangerous; that's what it's for. I've used it enough times to know it makes up for someone without much Stealth magic. It works exceptionally well while you're on a broom, too."

Remus thought that was probably a good idea.

He took his eyes off the silken threads of the inner lining of the cloak now and gave Ron a questioning look.

Ron looked flabbergasted. "You don't have a broom of your own?"

Remus shrugged. "Hasn't been in the cards."

Ron rolled his eyes and went over to the closet again.

"You are in a mood to borrow things. Well, then here - take this," Ron said

He emerged with a rather famous items: it was a Firebolt - in fact, it was Harry's. It was a historic item, for sure: appearing in that photo of Harry in his Gryffindor Quidditch uniform...the one used to portray him in books now that he had died.

Remus took the offered Firebolt with a numb hand.

"Wow, Ron..." Remus was nearly lost for words. "You're trusting me with so much...I wasn't expecting you to be so willing when I came here today."

Ron clasped a broad hand over his shoulder. The weight of it was heavy.

"I know I'm handing them to someone trustworthy. I wasn't expecting you to ever ask for them...but I've been thinking about giving you that map for awhile. Sorry I didn't do it last year; I was busy passing my final Auror exams."

Ron looked back down at the trunk, something he hadn't taken out and looked through in quite some time, but something that was inventoried in his mind and often crossed his thoughts.

What Remus saw as he stared down at it was a sad, sorry boy who wanted so badly to hold onto something that he could no longer reach...

It made the werewolf weep inside, to know how pitiful Ron was in this regard.

"He left me this...the house and that broom, too..." Ron said quietly. "He didn't leave them to me so that I'd remember him...he left them to me so that I'd use them. The cloak and the broom...and the house...yeah. But you can have the Marauder's Map. You helped make it, anyway."

Remus tucked the map into a pocket and looped the cloak around the broom, holding it - but appearing to hold nothing. It was a natural way to carry the items as they left the room and returned to the kitchen.

Upon reentering the kitchen, Ron landed heavily in his seat again and sipped his cold coffee. Remus looked a bit worriedly upon him.

"How are you doing, Ron?"

"Just don't ask me that," he replied sourly.

Remus went over and took his seat again, too. Maybe he leaned in a little too close, but he wanted to meet Ron's eyes.

"Remember when Harry used to become detached and unpredictable when bad things were happening?"

Ron only glared at him.

"Like the Dementor attacks, or when he was trying to tell everyone the Dark Lord was back and no one would believe him? And he always turned out to be right?"

"Yeah...I was usually one of the ones not believing him."

Remus nodded approvingly, glad that Ron followed his train of thought.

"Oh, Ron...You - you would always believe him!" Remus couldn't help but smile at the sight of this young man - this young man with so many years left in front of him. "Maybe not at first because he was pretty far out there sometimes, but before the end you were always on his side. That's what mattered."

Ron was about to get ornery. "Why are you talking about this?"

Remus leaned in closer to Ron, speaking quietly and honestly.

"Harry was being who he was. A hero! A friend. He saved your life not so that you'd live angry and alone..."

Ron's blue eyes turned biting with cold.

"Leave this alone, Remus," he threatened. "You got what you came here for...don't take any more with you."

Remus gripped his shoulder comfortingly. What he was going to say...he stopped. He knew when a person was too close to the edge.

He released Ron and stepped away.

"Alright, Ron. I'll be back soon. I'll...see myself out."

Remus turned to go, but Ron had a final word.

"He gave us all a second chance, Remus! What are you doing with yours? Have a fucking kid already and stop pretending you're not worth it!"

Remus stopped by the doorway, a smile forming on his lips. He even chuckled a little, which settled Ron's mind that he hadn't upset the older man too much. Ron was just grumpy, he knew that, and he was off-putting, but he didn't like to upset friends.

Remus turned back around.

"You're a good man, Ronald. Because he was your friend, and you miss him, you're angry. But you're a good man."

Remus left.

Where Remus Left To

He took the Floo to Finland, with the Firebolt under the Invisibility Cloak and the security witches and wizards none the wiser. He dawned the cloak when he was out of view of everyone and flew over the wilderness to the Blackquester house.

Today would be the fifth delivery of the Wolfsbane potion, and if Remus was right, he'd see the hero Janice and Unis drew deliver that potion. He had no idea if his idea was right, and he had no idea if he could pull this all off without his wife finding out, but he had to try.

He spent hours waiting, watching the house from in the air. This close to a full moon and his senses were sharp, so he knew the girl's would be, too. He stayed downwind and up high, fully covered in the cloak. He simply waited.

Long story short, the girls came outside to play together on a swing in a tree in the yard, and not long after that, Remus saw someone approaching on a broom at high speed.

When the two girls saw him, the squealed in happiness and shouted, stopping their games and only having time to right themselves before he stopped his broom before them. Remus watched closely as he handed them each a familiar item - a cup - and they drank without hesitation. Then he pulled them in for hugs, and they wrapped around him and stuck there light glue.

Remus's heart softened upon the sight...but he had some maneuvering to do.

He wasn't here to simply watch the encounter...he was here to learn.

The figure had come from the front of the house, and Remus was off to the side. He flew overhead - not making a shadow - and aligned himself with a clear view of the path the man on the broom had taken. With any luck, when he departed, Remus would see where he goes.

The man stayed for less than an hour, so Remus had more waiting to do. But then - though he couldn't hear - he saw them all make their goodbyes. The man waved as he mounted his broom and was off.

Remus immediately swooped along his path from high above, keeping a sharp eye on him. The figure went into a thicket and -

Nothing.

Remus waited. Nervous. Then he slowly went closer.

The thicket was in a rough pasture of alpacas. It was a cluster of trees and bushes, empty of all things. Remus landed on the ground and walked all around. He inspected closely, slowly, using all his senses. He saw where he knew the flyer had an easy time of entering - about five feet off the ground above a thorny bush. Remus now mounted the Firebolt and went in through the gap that was only accessible to someone flying, looking now in the cluster closely for what he suspected was a Portkey.

It could be anything...in this case it was a brown figurine of a werewolf. It was so fitting, so obvious. Remus just couldn't bring himself to touch it, though. Fear...he was so afraid of losing everything he had just to explore this avenue.

It was his visit with Ron, truthfully. He couldn't stop going over that visit.

Ron, Tonks, his life as a teacher...a baby?

Was he willing to give all this up to solve the mystery of where the Wolfsbane potion came from? Couldn't he just believe this person had money to spare and was choosing to spend it on these girls and those folks in London?

Remus didn't leave though. He didn't have the courage to fail. Gryffindor.

He wanted answers. He wanted to know what he could about this man who encouraged the Bladquesters to write Hogwarts, which spurred Dumbledore to action, which got Remus his job, which changed Hogwarts, and which was starting to change the way the Ministry viewed werewolves.

This man wasn't just a hero to the girls; he was a hero to all werewolves affected by the cascade of events.

Knowing it could be beyond a terrible idea, Remus - after an hour of sitting on that broom after the other person left - finally touched the Portkey.

His breath was taken from him, the pulling feeling took him, and the darkness engulfed him. Then - at once - he was returned to normal.

And he breathed a sigh of relief.

The kitchen was deserted and he wasn't about to die, that was the good news. The better news was that he got one of his answers solved in that moment: the place was blooming with plants. There were shelves that went up to the ceiling, and plants grew all along the rafters - it was a greenhouse in this kitchen, with the countertops laid out with eight small brewing cauldrons, and with pages and pages of potions spread about. The Wolfsbane potion was atop the rest.

Remus was still under the cloak and on the broom, and hovered here and there as he looked around.

He looked out the door at last, to a view of a city beyond some trees and a park. He turned away to the doorway, and through the living room of leather furniture and tabletops smeared with books and other plants, he saw large windows with the sea and cascading waves.

Remus floated on the broom into this quiet, deserted living room carefully, his eyes fully alert for people. There were other doors and a hallway that led away, but no one else. This space was much more homely compared to the workspace in the kitchen.

He was sure he wasn't alone, though. Sure, also, that he was carefully hidden. He moved slowly, taking in with all five senses the room and surrounding area...and it was in this subtle fashion that the mantel caught his attention.

There were photographs on the mantel, as in his own home. He might have closed in on this area after a time to inspect them, but as he recognized the people in the portraits, he made it straight over.

Remus flew on the Firebolt over the couch and then slowed...slowed to lean in and stare.

They were not home photographs, but clippings from the papers. Ron was featured over and over, as was Ginny, Hermione, the whole Weasley clan. There was a mug shot of Sirius Black, and a familiar photo of his wife Tonks morphing between her face and another. And more still, including himself.

"What the..." Remus breathed as a cold sweat formed, as his heart double-timed it.

There was only one normal photograph among them all. It was a fully color photo of Janice and Unis with the owner of Remus's curiosity between them, all smiling, all hugging closely...

Remus got so near to this photo that he brushed it with the hood of the cloak. The person what stared back...Remus saw light eyes...he saw a handsome face...he saw someone...familiar -

With the sound of a doorknob turning and a door opening behind him, Remus twitched. He twitched and he knocked against the photo. Knocked against it and it fell with a small clack upon the mantel.

Remus swung his head around and stared at the life-sized replica of the man in the photo, who had frozen in his tracks just outside of a door and was looking directly at Remus - directly through him - at the mantle. He was held mid-step, hand still behind him after opening the door just now.

The man was just come from the shower. He was dripping wet and wore only a white towel around his middle, and the sight of his flesh sent chills up Remus's spine. Beyond the shoulder-length dark honey hair that matched the smiling young man in the photo, the person standing across the room from Remus had flesh covered with an array of normotrophic and hypertrophic scars, now only skin toned or perhaps a little pink in areas, to signify they had been done long ago. They were on his face, chest and stomach, his arms and legs... Remus knew a cursed scar when he saw one, and the ones that dotted, slashed, and swirled on this young man were it.

The scent on him from the shower suddenly hit Remus's nose. It was a gingery and a medicinal scent that had imprinted itself in his brain long before, from muscle relaxing soaps and salves that made for very relaxing showers. Remus felt the weight of the scent crash upon him but held still, staring and coiled.

The man - the girl's hero - walked over on long thin legs sparse with hair, tightening his towel. Remus instinctively sailed slowly out of the way as the man came within feet of him and righted the photograph.

The man's hair was pushed back, dripping wet down his shoulders and his back, but not in his face at all. Remus just then, from this angle, saw another scar...

All other scars - and all other thoughts - left Remus when he spotted the only mark upon the forehead of the man: the lightning bolt.

Remus felt his adrenaline morph into something else...morph into something sickening.

New feelings that he hadn't felt became known. For one, he had the inexplicit fear that he would gasp aloud, that his body was inadequate for supporting himself anymore. But the thought of this actually being who he thought it was, was so powerful Remus just knew he'd die if it came to be.

It was as if he'd seen love at first sight.

Could it really be him?

In that moment of recognition and disbelief, his body sank in midair and his feet touched the floor with two soft sounds. Pat-pat.

The green eyes shifted to the floor, still with nothing to look at and only his instincts to tell him he wasn't alone.

Remus whispered, "Harry?"

The man spooked, and like a deer who heard a hunter's rifle, he flinched, gasped, and jolted back.

"Harry?" Remus whimpered now, and he dropped the hood of the cloak and bared himself - shaking and pale.

Remus's hands were so numb that they lost their grip on the cloak and the Firebolt as one. The Firebolt stayed floating where it was as he side-stepped off of it and stumbled slightly, but the cloak swam soundlessly to the floor with elegance.

Those green eyes filled with fear and surprise, and he staggered two more steps back and landed on the sofa, staring up at Remus.

Remus felt his heart flutter as he took the chance to be closer. He covered the distance between them slowly. He could hardly stop his hands from clasping against the sides of Harry's face as he lowered himself to his knees between Harry's legs, holding him there and looking at the scar - the eyes - the face of an aged ghost twice dead. James...Harry...here again.

"Is it really you?" His voice was baritone with emotion.

Those fathomless eyes blinked twice in sequence at him, then Harry's fears coalesced into tears that dripped down his cheeks, and his face scrunched up in a sob.

He heard the sound of his voice. Not words, but cries.

Remus was suddenly taken in a fierce hug, and Harry choked as he pressed his face into his old teacher's - old friend's - neck, and wrapped his legs fully around his center, holding him tightly.

"Harry!"

And they hugged. They hugged so unabashedly that Harry's towel became dislodges as he encumbered Remus fully. Their hands petted over and tangled in hair both wet and dry. When Remus began to kiss the side of his head, Harry began to gnaw on his neck and shoulder, utterly sobbing, repeating one word, sorry, sorry, sorry, as he breathed in his scent.

Ten minutes later, with their wild cries and choked laughter gone, and deep breaths of exhaustion left, they found themselves on the floor. Harry was atop Remus, his head in the nook of his neck, and had lost what little modesty he had over to the left somewhere, but Remus wasn't complaining. Harry's arms were around him and Remus was smothered and warm. Harry was heavy atop him, something that he was starting to notice in his older bones, but his chest was strong and his breath wasn't encumbered from the weight.

"I don't want to let you go," Remus whispered.

"Then don't," Harry said softly.

Remus pressed his nose into Harry's hair. It was nearly dry now. Where had the time gone?

Harry asked, "How did you get here?"

"I used your Portkey."

There was a long silence as Harry settled with that information. His eyes were closed up until then, but opened with worry now.

"So...Janice and Unis did have something to do with me seeing you the other day..."

It was five days ago, but...in a way he'd been hearing of him all this year. Hearing of their hero. It bathed Remus in warm light to know this.

"Not really...I've known about you - in a way - since halfway through the year because of them. I didn't know it was you - you. But they admired you...I took notice. Harry...?"

Harry lifted his head so he could look at Remus as he asked his question. He crossed his arms over Remus's chest and looked down at him. Both their eyes were swollen with tears. The look of pain had faded, leaving now only fascination.

"Have you ever...told them? Do they know?"

Harry knew what he meant. He shook his head.

"They don't know. But...their father knows."

Remus wasn't one to feel the pangs of jealousy, but at that moment he considered it.

"Why him?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, which Remus felt now, and noticed were cold. He laid his hands over the bare mounds, feeling scars under his fingers. He traced them, following the pattern upward, settling his hands over Harry's neck again.

"I was desperate, I guess. He had me a bit cornered...he caught me close to my Concealment potion's end and I just...let it happen."

Remus found curiosity suddenly. "How many people know?"

"Six now. Including you."

"Who?" He sounded mystified.

He waited in trepidation, wishing desperately to know the answer.

Harry kept him in suspense long enough, then spoke.

"The Malfoys. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco -"

"Them?!" Remus sat up then. He now had Harry straddling his waste, and he had to blush to see him fully naked. He pushed Harry off while trying not to be terribly rude, and Harry took up his towel again, returning some of his modesty back.

Now separated, he was cold. The cloak wasn't far away. Harry reached out and gathered it, feeling it against his bare skin and rubbing his hands over it, tossing it around him. He was a floating head and bared chest, then, but at least his business was concealed. He felt warmer, too.

"Why them?" Remus returned to his question. Harry cringed when that question was asked. But because it was asked by Remus, there was no anger or accusation involved. Remus just wanted to know. Harry looked on him earnestly, as if it was obvious, but couldn't find the words in it all.

Remus saw the answer there in front of him, though; he just had to think back all those years to understand.

"...it happened at Malfoy Manor," he said to Harry, piecing it together aloud. "You were left there...the Ministry never found out...you were somewhere else in the house...?"

Harry nodded.

He told Remus, "I shouldn't have lived. I really shouldn't have...I think that's why this has worked...why I haven't needed to come back. Everyone knows I should have died that day. It was easy to stay here."

Silence held between them as Harry looked down at the cloak, allowing it to sway here and there and reveal his chest. Remus looked on at the scars there. He had to wonder why they were there, until it became clear once again...all those years ago, he was told Harry was tortured in the end. He just hadn't known how...

"You got this from Ron?" Harry said about the cloak.

Remus nodded. "I went over this morning."

"How..." Harry breathed deeply, "how is he?"

"Harry...Ron misses you. Why are you doing this?"

Of course he had ask this question. He may have had the impression of vulnerability a moment ago, when he swung from Remus's body with tears in his eyes, but by now Remus was too mellowed by the lingering sensation of Harry's warmth. Perhaps he wouldn't even be able to get away with his usual half-hearted explanations.

"I can't...worry about the people in my old life. They are...perfectly fine and alive without me," Harry replied bitterly.

"Not Ron," Remus was sure of it.

Harry looked up at him again. "But he's safe. Everyone has a better future. I have a future, too, and it is mine. I can forget my childhood. I didn't have parents, brothers or sisters; not even a friend until he came along...and look what I did to that?" he was remembering how uncomfortable he made Ron; how close he'd come to death because of Harry. "People hated me...or they used me. What kind of life was that?"

Remus reached out and gripped him - gripped his invisible shoulders. "You're wrong, Harry! We needed you! We loved you!"

Harry smiled ruefully. "Don't warp the past," tears filled his eyes. "Everyone abandoned me at some point, but that was easy to do, wasn't it? I was angry all the time...I was irrational -"

"You weren't!" Remus was flabbergasted. "Harry...you were the most level-headed person I ever knew who went through all you had! We would have supported you through anything! And look at you now! Harry - you're alive! You didn't die! You lived through the Dark Lord's last chance at you, and you are here!"

"No...I didn't," Harry corrected him softly. "I didn't live through it. It broke me..."

Remus settled down and blinked several times, clenching his fists.

Harry searched Remus's face with pleading eyes.

"I'm not the same. Can you really look at me and believe that you are seeing the same person?"

Harry dropped the Invisibility Cloak onto his lap, keeping it modest. The scars on his chest were so plentiful.

"I was rebuilt on Oblivious Unction and Calming Droughts. I have a new name, a new identity, a completely new chance! I don't have nightmares any more, and even if I did, I'd just take a potion and forget about them. The old me didn't get that option. If I had lived as only the old me, I wouldn't have got that option, either!

"I don't miss my old life..." Harry confessed quietly now. "All that blood that was impossible to erase. Cedric Diggory, Sirius, my parents, and the rest: the wizards and Muggles caught in raids, the creatures, the people treated like they were expendable because of a war that I was expected to end..." Harry squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about the Malfoys who he cherished. "I know people never let the dead rest until their killers are caught...If I had lived, Remus - if I had been found alive back then, then people would believe Voldemort had lived. The war would never end."

Understanding the weight of what Harry said, Remus gripped his hands in his own.

"But everyone misses you! Ron - Merlin, Harry - Ron has been in such pain all these years. He loves you! I mean it - he really - really loves you! He's hardly living a life right now. All these years all he can think about is how you died for him. He's so angry, so full of revenge for all the people who hurt you -"

Harry hugged himself. "Don't, Remus!" He closed his eyes. "I am not doing this just for myself...if people knew - even back then - that I had lived, they would think Voldemort lived. It's better this way."

Remus felt a pit grow in his stomach. Sure enough, he could believe that.

Remus reached out again and touched his face, lifting it and smiling at what he saw.

"You have a new name?" he asked, astounded. "And you're helping lycanthropes get the Wolfsbane potion? What else is new?"

Harry quirked his lips in a small smile. "I have a job."

Remus laughed.

Harry smiled.

"I'm a Transportation Official. A-1 level."

Remus knew what that was. His eyebrows raised in surprise. "It takes years to become -"

He stopped speaking.

Time really had passed since last he'd seen this person.

Harry, when he saw the remorseful look that crossed Remus's face, turned away and buried his face in the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, smelling the disuse of it. He felt his nakedness underneath and came to a conclusion.

"I'm going to go change. Be right back?"

Remus watched as Harry rose and disappeared, pulled the hood up. The imprints on the rug said he was walking slowly towards the room he had emerged from before. Remus pushed his bones to the limit and arose, sitting on the couch now. He hardly had time to process all that he now knew before Harry was back again and clothed, with the cloak draped over his arm.

He went over to the floating Firebolt and looked down on it, staring but not touching.

"It's your first one," Remus said. "The one Sirius bought you."

Harry took hold of it at last and brought it close to his eyes, rubbing his fingers over the emblazoned word on the hilt of the broom. No glasses, Remus now noticed; he'd done a lot of changing these past years.

"Don't tell Ron," Harry said, looking over. "I know you might want to...but don't. Don't even tell Tonks."

Remus shook his head, suddenly a little worried.

"I can try not to tell anyone...but I work with Occulmensts. I take tea with Dumbledore and Severus Snape from time to time, and I know they can read my thoughts. Who's to say they won't just read my mind?"

Harry smiled a little just then.

"Well, don't worry about Snape at least...he knows about me already."

Remus went on alert. If he had it in him, he would have been upset, but Remus was of a different cut of cloth; he wouldn't do anything to scorn Harry.

For this, Harry was grateful, and explained, "I met him last year. He kept it to himself, didn't he? Kept it from Dumbledore, too? Maybe you should ask him how he did it."

Remus took a deep breath.

"Snape knows?"

Harry looked away, cradling the broom to his chest.

"Ron lent you a lot of my things..." he muttered.

"Yeah, he did. He said he trusted me with them. He has your old school trunk, too, kept in a Stasis charm. It still even smells like Hogwarts."

That news irked Harry, made his thoughts race.

Remus continued, "Snape knows about you?"

Harry nodded, unable to meet Remus's eyes. "He's been here all week helping to brew the Wolfsbane potion. He even helped patch me up after I splinched that day I saw you at your house..."

Harry summarized that experience, to Remus's dread. Harry kept his voice calm, but expressed that the shock of seeing Remus was as acute as it was seeing him in his own house. Either way, he was happy to have seen him, no matter the outcome.

"Even if that means Dumbledore finds out because of me? Even if I'm the reason your secret is discovered?"

Harry nodded. "Draco spent the whole of his Seventh year at Hogwarts knowing about me. And Snape spent last year doing the same. Apparently...because Dumbledore isn't looking for me, he's not finding me in their thoughts."

Remus reached out and pulled Harry gently down. Together they sank onto the couch. He wrapped his arms around Harry, holding him against his chest as he cradled his head - much like how Harry had been cradling the Firebolt earlier. For a long while, Remus sat this way, contemplating.

"Will Severus come by tomorrow for the final Wolfsbane brew?"

Harry nodded.

Silence again.

"Will you tell Narcissa Malfoy about me?"

Nodding again.

"Snape, too?"

"Yes, Remus. I need to tell them. I haven't gotten this far by keeping secrets from them. They're my only lifeline. Well...not Snape, as much... But I tell Narcissa almost everything. See...it's not too bad here," Harry noted dryly. "And why don't you come to the house while the others are here? Will it be too close to the full moon?"

Harry's request was countered by Remus's assurance.

"Yes, it's too close. Lycanthropes are not allowed to use the Floo network on the day of the full moon; too delicate a time."

"Hmm...then don't meet Narcissa tomorrow; meet her today."

Harry sat up.

He stood up, too, and took Remus by the hand. In his other hand he held the Firebolt but also scooped up the Invisibility Cloak. He pulled him to his feet and took him to the kitchen. There, in the corner, were two items - one of which was the Portkey that brought Remus here.

"Wait a minute, Harry -"

"This is a Portkey to Malfoy Manor. Are you willing to come with me there?" Sounded like a request; wasn't one.

Obviously, Remus stiffened beside him. He got a hard to read expression on his face that spoke of trouble.

"Why don't we have a cup of tea, Harry? Seeing as I only got here? There's no rush, is there? We could go along the beach? I haven't been to the sea in a long time..."

Remus's voice was casual, soft, and full of diplomatic statements of fact.

Harry set the cloak and Firebolt down, and went to the kettle.

Interlude.

"Thank you for returning to teaching," he smiled and wasn't that just a sight for Remus's sore eyes. "I really was glad when I found out you went back. Janice and Unis talk a lot about you, and I remember all you did for me back at school. Thank you."

"It's got its perks. I'd consider even Severus one of them," he confessed.

Harry scrunched up his face, contorting more scars. "Why? I found he was still just the same...not very perk-like."

Remus made a face at that, trying not to laugh. "He's been playing his part for over forty years. His feelings are wrapped around sarcasm and scorn, so I doubt he will change. But he is a decent man. He may just need a vacation."

Harry suppressed a laugh, too. It was nice knocking the man any day of the week.

"A vacation? Could you think of anywhere he'd like to go?"

"Maybe on one of your trips collecting rare potion ingredients. Where was the most recent place you went?"

"The Tibetan mountains. We camped along a snow ridge and the herbologists looked for some daycolier viper flowers; it's like this little flower that grows in the moss on the rock face."

Remus shook his head, feeling befuddled. "If I had stories like that to talk with while taking tea with Severus, he would never be board of me."

Harry grinned. "Then come with me one of these times? Next week I'm going to -"

"Let me stop you there," Remus put his hands up in earnest. "It's not as easy as it sounds, and it's certainly not a vacation. And - and on another note..." he took a steadying breath, "I know that going back to the way things were will require a certain amount of skill to keep you a secret while I'm at Hogwarts..."

Harry sipped his tea as he thought of a well rounded reply. In the mean time, he glanced out the window at the sunset. Remus had been here for hours. They hadn't left the house, yet, but Remus was going to have to face Harry's desire to introduce him to Narcissa and - well, and Lucius Malfoy, too, probably.

Lucius Malfoy was a problem for lycanthropes when he was still in office at the Ministry. Not one bill or policy was passed in favor of Remus's kind, and it really was a personal grudge against the man that Remus had formed. He was going to have to be civil, though, as Narcissa was his wife's aunt. Estranged.

He didn't want to lay his worries on Harry. He was just trying to take it slow.

"But I'll be fine...Severus will know tomorrow? I'll approach him again when school starts up. It's rather exciting...I'll be the first person in decades to hold the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for a second year in a row. I'm almost waiting for something to happen to knock me out of the running."

Harry leveled him with a smile. "I guess you're right. It was probably Voldemort's death; I heard that he had cursed that position."

They snacked on the contents Harry brought to the table for a little longer, until Remus brought up the story about Tonks investigating the botched Wolfsbane potion, as well as their look into the black market.

"So, you had that potion I gave you looked at?" Harry acknowledged easily. "Did you discover anything? I'm just interested."

"There wasn't anything wrong it. Also, Tonks and Moody decided not to pursue the brewer of that potion, considering there was a closed line of distribution to only a few other werewolves, none of whom had had adverse affects. This was the conclusion of those in the Order, too, of course; Aurors in general probably never even knew that potion had been found."

Harry pursed his lips. "You made the connection between it, Janice and Unis...?"

Remus nodded. "I just wanted to meet - or even just look upon - the man who supported those two girls and made them feel normal. They're not at all like any of the other lycanthrope children. They get along with the general student body like they're one of them; like there's nothing wrong with them. They're outgoing, happy, everyone likes them. They don't act hurt or like usual victims of lycanthrope attacks."

Harry reached out and clenched his strong fingers around Remus's hand. "You mean...they don't act like you use to? They don't need someone like my dad or Sirius to be their friend to make them fit in?"

Remus nodded. He continued to say, "It's easy to see that they're a bit special, isn't it? When they're in my class, it's like they have this secret language or something. They've got a bond that I think I use to have with your dad and godfather; and that I think you use to have with Ron?"

Upon mention of Ron's name, a shudder ran through Harry's body.

Remus let Harry's mind race a moment, then added, "He's been through a lot - with you and after you, too - but he has a gentle heart."

Maybe it was that this was the week of the full moon, but Remus was sensitive enough to know that Harry's heart had started racing again. Back when he had him in his arms on the floor, the fine little hairs on the back of his neck had been spiked up, and now - in apprehension - they were spiked again.

"You said he misses me?" Harry asked softly, then lowered his head. "But he would hate me for what I've done."

Harry deeply thought that Ron hated him for a lot...most of all trading his virtue for his freedom at Malfoy Manor. And as a close runner up: for being weak and sleeping with the Polyjuice version of him. What shambles that turned out.

Remus signed. "I know you have reasons to stay hidden from the general public, but yeah...not telling Ron...that's rather..." Remus let his voice trail away.

He was thinking about Peter Pettigrew. How he was alive all those years living as Ron's rat. How he could have made himself known to Remus if he wanted...but of course didn't because of his choice to assist the Dark Lord. It perhaps wasn't fair of Remus to make the connection to Harry hiding out here and Peter hiding out as a rat, but in both cases a person thought dead wasn't.

"...what I mean to say is...have you ever wanted to contact him?"

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and went over to the sink. It was past sunset now; the world was dark out the window. He took his time to think.

At last, Harry nodded. There was a hint of trepidation in his eyes that he hid from Remus.

"Anything I can do to help?" Remus asked then.

Harry turned around. Silently, he pushed off the counter and then left the room. He went into his bedroom, fished around in the back of his bedside drawer, and then came back to Remus with a small little thing. He held it out in his hand. Remus stared at the glowing vile; the memory that was locked in a potion bottle.

"What's this?"

"I'd like you to give that to Ron."

"How do you expect me to explain this?" Remus wondered.

Harry passed it over; Remus held it delicately.

"Tell him it was in a pocket in the Invisibility Cloak."

"The Invisibility Cloak doesn't have pockets."

Harry shrugged. "Tell him it does. Tell him you found it."

He was doing it again now, drinking in the sight of the newly risen from death, scar covered youth. Remus rubbed the back of his head, staring down at the memory vial.

"What is this?"

"Don't look at it?" Harry asked.

"I won't say this is a bad idea," Remus told Harry at length. "If this was made after your disappearance...Ron might find out."

"It was made of a memory that happened before. I looked it over; there's nothing that will make him think it was made after. It's just...my way of helping him move on. Draco says there's something he's hung up on...I think this can help."

When Remus next looked up at him, Harry's expression twitched and his eyes roved over the floor. Remus slid his free hand into Harry's and stood slowly.

"I'll see that he gets it."

Interlude's ending.

When Remus stood again on Ron's doorstep, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, Ron's stomach knotted nervously. He could tell from the serious look in this man's eyes that Remus had been on a bothersome adventure, which could be a good thing or a tremendously bad one. When it came to this look in a man's eyes, Ron had learned to be wary.

"Well, come on in," Ron offered. He'd been holding the door open long enough to let half the moth population into his house already. Time to close up. Remus followed him into the house. Whereas this morning it had just been Ron home, now his brother and sister were also, so Ron said in quiet voice, as the painting hadn't heard the knock, "let's just go right up to my room."

They didn't go into the kitchen, or alert the others he was there. Once in Ron's room, Remus raised his hand, fingers oddly curled. Ron reached out to the invisible offering, taking the solid objects of the Invisibility Cloak and the Firebolt.

"Hope they came in useful," he said, going now to his closet to return them.

After a long minute in which Ron deposited the items and Remus stood around silently, Ron gave a tiny, decisive nod and straightened. "Want to tell me how it all went?"

His concerns must have shown all too clearly in his eyes, so Remus looked away.

"I didn't mean for it to take so long," indeed, the whole day at Harry's, and then another two hours at Malfoy Manor; it added up. "I was looking into something Tonks told me to stay out of..."

Ron plopped onto his springy bed. "She's not in the wrong to know what's best for someone's health. I hope you would have invited her - or me - along if you were getting into any real danger?"

Remus nodded, then shook his head. "No - no danger. I was just following up on something."

"Satisfied with the results?"

Remus blushed, rubbed his cheek. Harry had been nuzzling against him not long before.

"Yes."

Ron suddenly looked stern. "What's with that look?"

Remus ultimately knew he had to get out of there, least Ron break his neck if he wrung the truth out of him.

Remus dove his hand into his pocket and held out a small object; the promise he'd made.

Ron reached forward without standing up and took the offering that was plopped into his hand. It didn't weight much as it rolled over Ron's fingers, glowing in an unidentified way at first.

He knew it was a deceitful thing to say, but he couldn't stop the words from flitting out, knowing that they would clinch his emancipation. "I found that in the Invisibility Cloak," he had been told to say that, but not told to say this next part, "I - I saw what it was -"

Remus cleared his throat and looked away again.

Harry had asked him not to look. He was weak; curious.

When he'd left Malfoy Manor, he went straight home. He needed to let Tonks know he was fine. But the thing was - she didn't think anything out of the ordinary. She just thought he had gone to the shops. He told her he forgot his wallet, so that was why he hadn't picked anything up. She chided him softly and then went about her evening. Remus went upstairs and poured the memory out, having a look within.

"It's - it's Harry's. It's his memory in there..."

Ron stood up suddenly. His brazen move drew Remus's attention. Ron's eyes were fierce, glaring down at the little memory in his large hand.

"I shouldn't have looked -"

"Harry's memory?" Ron gritted out.

Remus picked up on the rising apprehension. He moved to the door.

"I'm going to go, Ron. I'm - sorry. Sorry to be the one to give that to you."

Ron looked up at him just in time to see his back receding out the door into the hall. He closed the door behind him, leaving Ron alone in the room.

Ron looked at the closet where he'd deposited the Invisibility Cloak back into Harry's school chest. That cloak had only come out half a dozen times since he was sixteen; it never occurred to him that the damn thing had pockets!

Ron was up. He first locked his door and then opened his closet, fished around for something to use as a container for the memory. He came out of there with a glass cereal bowl he'd picked up as a collector's item and tore it out of its packaging. He set it on his bed and sat on his knees on the floor beside it. He looked intently at the memory, then poured it into the bowl.

Then had a look.

September 2001.

Hermione's selfish desire to change the world took its toll on Ron, but she didn't need him for long. The year was hot, muggy, and the criminals were plentiful. Ron only needed to keep her alive in the field until she was ready to move along with her career plans, and in that he succeeded, but with a few new scars. Hermione kept spewing her thoughts at every moment, bugging the hell out of the other Aurors. She chided their old beliefs, their skewed ideas of the law, the lack of their individuality. She made a lot of friends in the end, though. Everyone believed in her.

She was promoted to a Deputy Head and was the most organized leader Ron had yet had, even though she was not much older than some of the new recruits. His caseload decreased as their ranks became more efficient.

Everyone knew Ron and Hermione were special people, specially trained during their years at Hogwarts because of their unique friend and his involvement in the Wizarding War. They had such focus, such drive, and couldn't deny that Harry Potter was a huge factor in that. Articles were written, observations made, and many miles away, in a cottage by the sea, their biggest fan supported them silently.

After showing the memory to Hermione of their night in Malfoy Manor - letting someone close to him again - it was good for Ron. She made him connect with people, sent him on cases where he was a good fit and could show himself off. With her by his side to talk about life with him, he slowly started to live a little.

He still found Hermione attractive, but there wasn't anything there that he wanted. He felt ostracized from the dating life. A few introductions here and there, but Ron preferred work more than he did dating. He assumed he didn't really pose as an approachable person, anyway, so why bother trying to make friends? Hermione bade him try his hand at being a bit more diplomatic, and maybe then he might have a promotion waiting for him. But Ron hadn't tried too hard at even that.

"Do you just want to be an Auror all your life?" Hermione asked him in her office, alone without people to overhear them.

"What's so wrong with that?" Ron asked, still holding his wounded arm where he'd taken a fall in his latest arrest.

Hermione sighed, lifting the Daily Prophet and skimming the latest news story about him.

"You are good at making the papers with wild arrests, Ron. But one day you're going to really hurt yourself. It's my job to keep you safe, you know."

Ron leaned over her desk, tilting his head obnoxiously. "Really? I thought it was you who sent me out to make that arrest."

She glared at him. "I didn't tell you to go alone! Take your sister at least!"

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Real professional," Hermione scolded, quite an arch to her eyebrow lately.

"I'll be at my desk healing from my broken arm. Let me know when I'm due to appear in court on this one."

"Thursday!" Hermione bellowed as he left her office.

Ron wondered if he'd ever have a normal conversation with her again.

Everyone knew they use to date at Hogwarts, and often he was catcalled for sleeping with the boss in his past...which yes, he had done; back at Hogwarts, but not lately. This made Ron a few less friends. A few times he was even drawn to wanting to sleep with her again...but dark thoughts plagued him, and he just couldn't.

He probably didn't need to keep watching his friend get raped over and over...it wasn't very healthy. But Remus had given him that memory...the one he'd made of the night in the hospital ward. It was locked safely in Ron's closet at home, seen only by him and Remus - who confessed to watching it once - but never talked about. He'd not seen Remus again since he'd come by last month asking for the Cloak and the Firebolt. For the best. He was still processing it all.

The thing about it was...there was a clue. No, not conclusive evidence, just a clue. A Slytherin Prefect badge. Ron knew everything Harry had ever told anyone about that night - his statement to Dumbledore, what he told the Muggle therapist at Smeltings, what he told his roommate Kenny Johansen, what he said on every occasion it was brought up between them personally - and never had Harry ever said there was a Slytherin Prefect badge shown to him.

Why keep that to yourself? Why be so alone, Harry?

It wasn't evidence that it was Draco Malfoy, but it was telling...

And even this year, Ron was still interrogating the Slytherins released from Hogwarts who might have knowledge of that night long ago. Ron had joined up becoming an Auror right out of school, and with his connection to the Order of the Phoenix, he started to become involved in that work to look into this old case. It was personal, yes, because it was his best friend's case, after all.

Black Manor was his. Harry had left it to him that day all those years ago, and they had fixed it up to use. On and off again all the Weasley children lived here, but it was a fixed residence for three of them, Fred, Ginny, and himself. These were the bachelors and bachelorette of the all the Weasleys in the nation, with everyone else having settled down. Ginny, like Ron, was an Auror. She toyed with a few career paths, but two years out of Hogwarts and finally she gave in to Ron badgering her to stop living off them and get a job. She was suited very well to the life, having had so many pushy older brothers to get her prepared for it. Her desk was next to Ron's.

Ron was still a field agent, not quite capable of a promotion yet. Everyone said it was his attitude.

"We have just got a top priority case!" resounded Hermione, a few days after Ron was desk-bound with his healing arm.

She got all attention at once. If she hadn't, the three Aurors behind her with singed and smoking uniforms would have. They were from the Improper Use of Magic Office. Ron smelled burning wood and an acidic smell to boot. She went up to the board at the front of the room and waved her wand, spelling a list of potion ingredients and potions.

"We've just been informed of an explosion at a potion-brewer's in Leeds. A squad from the Office Improper Use of Magic found they were using regulated ingredients and restricted potion recipes, so we'll be teaming up with them just to give them some extra bodies on the ground. Considering the potions they were brewing, I'd like to make it clear that this is a very dangerous predicament we're in. Is anyone familiar with these potions?"

She had been writing on the board the names of the potions they had found at the crime scene.

"Rot Hecticism?" Read off Ron, interrupting her. "What in Merlin's name is that?"

It was one of the wizards with burned robes who said, "A highly regulated form of potion brewing with no place in modern society. It was used in the fourth century for mass Muggle killing with plague-like symptoms. They had three jars of it in their lab, along with the other substances she's written on the board. All of these are extremely regulated and we need to find the leak!"

Hermione took over the conversation once again.

"They were stock piling these ancient potions. It's unsure where they came upon the recipes, and where they got the contraband to brew them. We're going to be up to our necks in inspections! Every potion brewery in the area will have to be looked into. And I'll need an immediate liaison to go to the Potion Institute in Cambridge. One of the bodies was identified as a brewer there; they are our first lead! Any volunteers?"

Ron had just been board out of his skull a few minutes ago, but this was now suddenly quite to his taste. Draco Malfoy worked at the Potion Institute in Cambridge. It was very high on Ron's radar that he did. He stood and raised a hand.

"Me!"

Hermione raised that angry eyebrow she'd been exercising just for him.

"Is the restraining order lifted yet?" She asked coldly.

Ron smirked. "Last month."

She was, of course, referring to Ron's inebriated appearance last year at the Potion Institute. He'd shown up while off-duty to 'have a little chat' with Draco Malfoy. Later, Ron claimed he didn't remember the event, and Hermione put a tighter leash on Ron than ever before. Draco hadn't been the one to file the restraint, but the lobby witch had, because Ron had got physical with Draco and frightened her.

She gave the room another scan, but no one else was willing to get in Ron's way.

"Alright," she said, none-too happily. "Check in immediately with me when you're done with your first investigation. And Ginny, go with him."

"I'll meet you there!" Ron rushed to say, grabbing his jacket, his notebook, and making for the exit before Ginny had even put down her fruit parfait she'd been munching.

"Go!" Hermione demanded of her as Ron disappeared from the room. She was well behind him already.

Ron went to the Potion Institute via the Floo Network in the Ministry. It was a familiar path. He even knew the special Floo Network access right into the lobby. He walked right up to the familiar witch working there and was about to state his claim when the witch huffed, "I thought you'd be back last month? Let me guess? Medical Department? Mister Malfoy?"

Ron smiled at her, easing down onto her desk with his hip.

"If you're offering," Ron shrugged, "I'm just passing by. But sure, give him a ring. I know where to go."

The witch gave him a dower look as he left her desk and made for the elevator. She quickly wrote a note on a Card and waved her wand, sending the Card through the pipes and up to the Medical Department. The Card said, He's back!

Ron wasn't delayed by the elevator and his steps were long and fast as he walked down the corridor. He'd been periodically invested in harassing Draco Malfoy, making it his duty to not let things go with him, when he'd been forced to thanks to that restraining order.

Everyone on Harry's rape case told him it wasn't Draco. And hell, Ron almost believed them. They'd used everything shy of Veritaserum on him, but he came across as truthful. But he was a Malfoy; they were slimy and hard to catch.

He knew the witch at the desk had contacted him when Draco came bursting out the Medical Department doors, looking left and right. Ron smiled.

"Long time no see," Ron stated loudly, not slowing, not hesitating.

Draco barely had time to press his lips into a thin line when Ron grabbed him by his labels and slammed him back against the door he'd just come through. Draco winced, but didn't fight. Ron stared down into the shorter man's face, just inches from his nose.

"Merlin, Weasley. When will you stop growing?" Draco was resigned to Ron's behavior.

"Oh, hi, Malfoy. Didn't see you down there. Been here long?" And Ron grasped the blonde and slammed him roughly against the door again. Draco huffed and winced. This time, though, Ron felt the sting in his damaged arm. He immediately let go and rubbed his forearm, but didn't let up an inch of body space otherwise.

Ron said, "Wonder if I could ask you some questions? Official business."

"It's always official with you," Draco sneered, cocking his head to the side and looking quite tired of this school yard thing Ron kept doing. Albeit, Draco understood. He really did.

It was because of Harry. Ron wasn't yet over it.

"I mean it, Slytherin. Got an office somewhere? Nice and quick now! I haven't got all day!"

Draco was pushed away from the wall and at last gave a shove to Ron, gaining some distance from the man who sucked up all his air.

"Who's on your ass today? Captain Granger? Does she even know you're here? How long until she gets here?"

Ron put a hand on Draco's shoulder and double-timed his steps. He looked over his shoulder at the empty hall behind him, pushing Draco so fast so as to get away from his sister.

"She's the one who sent me, but not the one who's coming. Fair warning. Now get going!"

At last, Draco turned a corner and entered a room with his name on it. As a Chief Potioneer, he was given management duties, specifically in the medical brewing part of the this institute. He'd been promoted a years ago, much to Ron's dislike. He would have much preferred Draco stay a peon with stained fingers and low pay.

Once in Draco's new office - Ron's first time in here - Ron shut the door and locked it. He finally relaxed, taking a moment to look around. He whistled in appreciation, unable to not like the decor. It was dark, filled with books and files, and tidier than his underwear drawer.

"Looks like you've settled in nicely," and now Ron turned his keen Auror eye on his old classmate. "But where do you hide the secrets?"

Draco's left eye flinched. Ron took note.

"I don't have any, Weasley. And once again, why are you here?"

Ron thought about diving into the questions, but this was in fact a rare opportunity. He never got a chance to be alone with Malfoy anymore. Not in years.

Ron started to prowl. He made for the left side of the room, taking an interest in anything that looked potential. He moseyed like he had all the time in the world.

"Coming up on five years since Harry was raped in the hospital ward at Hogwarts. Got any intel for me about that?"

Draco dropped into the chair behind his desk.

"Stop it, Auror Weasley. Even you must have an end date for this witch hunt."

Ron didn't. He was worse than a dog with a bone with this one.

"No magical signature identified on the fluid left in Harry's body. Pardon me - I meant to say the ejaculation; 'fluid' can mean so many things, right? The rapist left his sperm inside of him, yet it couldn't be matched with any magical signature on file." Ron was repeating the findings Madam Pomfrey and the Order of the Phoenix had concluded about the rape. Ron had long since memorized the files, and long since lost his derision for the words. "It would take someone with specialized brewing capabilities to make a potion that so accurately hid their signature...not everyone at Hogwarts at that time had the grades for that."

Ron noticed a little box on the shelf in front of a silver bound book. He both opened the box - empty - and opened the book - full of medical knowledge on werewolves. Ron kept hunting.

Draco's features were schooled to perfection. "Stop it. I mean it, Ronald."

Ron looked over his shoulder.

"You're not bothered that a boy your own age was raped at Hogwarts while you were there? It could have been you, you know? And besides, you are gay, so you must know how careful someone has to be to make that a pleasurable experience, let alone someone who doesn't bother to even try -"

Draco stood up, unbidden but unable to stop himself. Ron had a way of getting him angry. He kept his voice cold, but there was a darkness to it.

"Even I know they found lubrication on him. Pomfrey concluded there was no way -"

"It hurt him!" Yelled Ron, sure of it - confident of it. Harry's breath had hitched. He'd winched. His eyes squeezed shut and when they opened again they were teary. Ron saw it - over and over - how his Polyjuice twin had gotten a different angle and made Harry twitch and cry out. "It was his first time! Would anyone find their first time anything less than painful? Emotionally it was devastating for him!"

"Emotionally THIS is devastating for me!"

Draco had flung his head back in exasperation, because - yeah - he was running in circles.

Silence. When Draco finally looked back, Ron was staring at him, and Draco could not read the expression on his face.

"I forgot you fight back," Ron said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "Not many people do that anymore..."

Draco pressed his hands atop his desk, leaning forward over it. They locked eyes for a few long seconds, and Draco said, "You're only hurting yourself now, Auror. You come back here repeating the same thing year after year, expecting it to be a Slytherin, but you know they checked all of us back then. You know Dumbledore and Snape did their own investigating of us -"

There was a trophy on the top shelf, just a little prize for management achievement, and Ron got his fingerprints all over the damn thing. It went back on a different level of the shelf, crooked and scuffed. It irked Draco to watch. Ron moved on again to a different bookshelf to start anew at looking around.

"I heard about those reports, too," Ron confessed with a wave of his hand, "but they went easy on you lot; unable to make you little snakes really talk."

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah... Yeah."

Ron said offhandedly, "Being a kid with Death Eaters for parents wasn't ideal, I bet. You did what your parents made you do, and what the Dark Lord told them to tell you to do." Ron slapped a book closed and turned to him. "And one of those things was to rape Harry, wasn't it? One of you lot got told 'use Polyjuice and get close to him, then fuck him.'"

Ron's expression was neutral, calculating, judging Draco's reaction for any twitch. Draco held it together.

"I don't know why you keep coming to me thinking I have the information you want -"

And now Ron told Draco a little truthfulness. "Your cousin Clouse told me you fancied him. Makes you a prime suspect atop all the other evidence."

Draco crossed his arms, tongue pressed tightly against the roof of his own mouth. This was the first time he'd said that to Draco. Up until now, Ron only accused him with no evidence. But Draco had told that to Clouse...but this was the first he heard Ron say of it.

"That night at your parent's manor house? That little room in your basement? Do you ever go in there? There was no lubricant used that time."

Draco whispered, "I know; you told me that before..."

It'd been a nice year with the restraining order, but clearly it was going to pick up right where it left off.

"He only knew one thing for a fact: the first rapist wasn't really me. Not even that could let him let me be close, though. He would flinch at the sight of me sometimes. He spent the last months of his life coping with my face."

Ron turned the pain of how much that hurt him instead to show as fury. But he let up quickly. He turned back to the bookshelf and picked another book up and looked inside.

Draco, in his old age - twenty-one - was a little more compassionate than he use to be. His eyes were weary. He was endlessly wondering why he had taken the path he had and used Polyjuice as Ron, snuck into the hospital ward, and made love to Harry. He was such a stupid kid.

"Alright. So you know I don't strictly follow the path of sleeping with only witches. But for your information, I make every provision to insure my male lovers don't feel discomfort. I'm not a fiend, Ronald; I don't hurt people like my cousin did. And I do appreciate you not letting this knowledge out. And I would appreciate you stop going through my things!"

Ron opened another box, this time finding some glowing rocks inside of it. Ron shut the box.

"Thank you!" Draco said when Ron didn't move to grab anything else.

Ron turned to him. From the look he gave, Draco had nothing to be thankful for.

It was without thought and with pure suddenness that Ron strode across the room and flung Draco's hardwood desk aside, upending all order he might have had in this office. His good arm strained with the effort of knocking that shitty furniture out of his way, and he felt a terrible snap in his bad arm. He cried out in pain but anger still won; his inertia carried him forward and atop Draco once again. Ron used his bad arm and caught the back of Draco's head before it slammed into the bookcase behind him; he felt a new bruise form where he'd saved Draco the headache. As they collided with it, books fell out onto the hardwood floor and something glass broke.

Draco suddenly couldn't breathe. Ron was mouth to mouth with him, hand fisting his hair, tugging it painfully and keeping his face locked in place.

The pain in Ron's arm was similar to the pain of finding himself kissing Draco Malfoy, but he couldn't stop himself. Why couldn't he stop himself?

Draco wasn't trying either.

Slytherin paws and Gryffindor bites were all the two desperately felt for the next few minutes. Ron sought climax, sought relief, sought education. Draco could appreciate the body of the fighting-shape Auror, and the thrill of the out-of-reach was exactly what Draco was constantly drawn to. If it was a bad match, he was interested. His track record attested to that: his closet was littered with unrepeatable salacious nights with straight and married men.

Ron opened Draco's pants first, and for the first time in his life he felt the member of another man. Draco threw his head back as he was gripped, filling with pleasure. His breath came faster now. The sensation of the strong fist of muscle and calluses constricting around his member made him break out in sweat.

Their eyes locked for a second before Ron looked away. Draco took that like some sort of answer, like he'd asked a question or something. Whatever he thought he now knew, he still came at Ron for another thunderclap kiss, using his free hand to open Ron's pants and start the same wreckage of his body as was happening to him. Soon, Ron was responding with small gusts of sighs into Draco's mouth, then let out a wicked moan and their fluids - ejaculation - mingled. His head fell into the crook of Draco's neck.

They both shook.

Ron tried not to look at the dark images in his head.

"What the fuck, Weasley?" Draco gasped.

Ron smelled the wash solvent in Draco's clothes and wasn't impressed...wasn't attracted at all, he suddenly realized. This wasn't quite the bonding experience it probably should have been...it was about as textbook as fisting in someone's office gets.

Ron closed his eyes and finally looked at the darkness.

He saw Harry against the wall, arms twisted and body all in pain. The Malfoy atop him had grown horns and scales, and was eating him alive.

Then another image. Harry on a bed, legs wrapped around the image of himself, begging for more because the pleasure was so good.

"I bet it was you," Ron said, voice husky. "Because you're right - you would take care of your lover. You wouldn't make it hurt for them..."

Ron pulled away, turning around and tucking himself back away awkwardly with his one good hand. He took out his wand and performed a cleanup spell, removing the many damp spots. At last, Ron looked straight ahead at the wall opposite Draco and sighed deeply. He hadn't known it would feel that good. He really regretted so much...he could have had that with Harry. He could have had a life different than this shambles.

"Ron?" Draco muttered weakly.

Ron looked behind him at Draco, who was finished tucking himself up but hadn't quite wiped that wanton look off his face yet. Ron catalogued that look, then counted the minutes since first entering this office, and knew his time was really up.

"My sister's going to have some questions for you," Ron intoned without his usual fever.

And at that exact moment there was a loud banging on the door.

"Ron?! I mean - Auror Weasley?! You in there?" Ginny yelled from the other side.

Ron left Draco where he was, among the upturned desk and disaster of an office, and he went over to the door and unlocked it. On the other side, Ginny stood in her Auror uniform, looking in past him at the wreckage.

"What did you do in here?!"

"He's all yours," Ron said glumly, stepping past her and making for the exit.

"Ronald!" Ginny shouted after him, pure hatred for her brother at this moment. He was always hell to explain after to the bosses.

Ron kept walking away.

Draco discretely turned away from Ginny and cast his cleaning charm.

Still September, 2001.

Draco waited three days after his encounter with Auror Ron Weasley, and then he visited Harry via the Portkey his mother kept. He had the house elves cook a nice meal and took that with him, knowing Harry cooked for himself lately and wasn't very good at it.

When he arrived, Harry wasn't home. He set the meal up and settled a warming spell over it, and then he looked around. He was here a few weeks ago to help his mother brew the Wolfsbane potion, but he'd slowed down those visits. Truly, by now Harry was a good enough brewer to help with it, and he didn't need to be there as much with the two of them on it. It was nice having Snape over to help, too, but Hogwarts had started classes again, so he couldn't come by.

The place would surly send them all to Azkaban one day. It was filled with contraband and bubbling potions. It was nothing like the Rot Hecticism brew that had been reported by the Ministry, and had nothing to do with his department, thank Merlin. When Ginny Weasley questioned him for the Auror Department those days before, he truthfully told her he had no idea. The suspect involved was from their company, but not his division. Draco oversaw the production of common healing potions, not rare infectious cures like their suspect. Ginny and the Aurors moved on from him in a hurry. Ron was helpful in that regard; the desk witch was looking to file another restraining order.

Narcissa also brewed healing potions and mind correcting concoctions. She sold them to old spinsters to keep them sharp. Their clientele list was that of harmless witches and wizards, and they'd yet to make a name for themselves with the Aurors. Draco made to keep it that way, but felt he had to warn Harry anyway.

This cottage was a greenhouse. After years of pulling roots out of garbage cans and transporting them home secretly, and with Narcissa's green thumb to nurse new growth from the dead, the place was blooming. The downside of it all was that just the blackdreamer shrub from India alone could - should the Improper Use of Magic Office find it - warrant a year in Azkaban for possession outside a regulated facility. And they had three of those plants. After all these years and no one being the wiser about it, though, Harry had little worry. Draco was really more the worrier type these days anyway.

On the mantle were quite a few photographs. Draco went over and looked at them, as he had time to kill.

The pictures were personal to Harry and he quiet enjoyed having them on display. Most were cutouts from the papers that were placed in frames. His mother had begun this habit for Harry, after her cutout of the Weasley family that still sat there to see. There was one of Ron in uniform, taken last year, but he still looked rather the same as the man who walked into Draco's office. Ron had his own scrapbook just to the left of the fireplace, Draco knew, of his exploits documented in the papers.

Memories abounded of holding Ron's bare manhood in his hand and pulling him to completion. Draco looked at the stern face of this man in the photo and didn't recognize him from the blushing, aroused and exceptionally fervent Auror not in dress uniform.

But besides newspaper clippings set in magic frames, there was one new addition to the stack. Draco picked up the only real photograph among the lot of them. It moved according to wizard film, and was of Harry with his arms around two smiling twin girls. He had to have known Harry was friends enough to have a photo like this.

Draco had seen these twins with the werewolf curse that day Harry splinched himself and he had to deliver the potion. The look of pure dismay on their faces as he came flying up - that it was him and not Harry - was unnerving. But Harry, even though he had splinched the day before, delivered the next potions and the subsequent ones after that, too. He said the girls were watchful for him...that they were worried for him.

They had already began their second year at Hogwarts, so fortunately that took their brewing needs off the table, easing the household's workload during that moon week. It was on Remus and Severus Snape to care for them, then. Draco was almost sure Harry - that Gryffindor - had made the two teachers swear to watch out for them.

With the coming of age of all those children cursed during the war, Hogwarts had had to see to it that they get an education. There were six werewolf children attending Hogwarts last year, with three more added this year, according to the papers. They were getting their brews from Professor Snape and getting an education from Remus Lupin, hired on again as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry loved that it worked out that way.

Draco pulled himself away from the photos and took a seat on the couch.

Learning that Remus now also knew about Harry was another great surprise, but wasn't him having a fisting fest with Ronald Weasley taking the cake?

What was he really doing here at Harry's house, anyway? It wasn't like he could tell him he had relations with his old friend...

"You don't know when to stop..." Draco said aloud of himself.

Magic books were laid about; Harry really didn't know how to clean up after himself. They were travel guides and advanced defense spells that surely by now Harry had mastered; he was meant to be an Auror if ever anyone was; he would have been more astute to the position than even Ron.

Draco wanted to talk about what happened between him and Ron, though. Ron wasn't letting the past go. He was so caught up in it that it was destroying him. He wanted Harry's opinion, though...maybe not on that kiss or what they did with their hands, but on the simple fact that -

Yeah - "I bet it was you, because you're right - you would take care of your lover. You wouldn't make it hurt for them..." - Ron might have granted amnesty to him.

Draco closed his eyes as he laid out on the couch. He wasn't intending on slumbering but that's exactly what he did. He awoke to the sound of a fork clinking quietly on a plate. He opened his eyes to see Harry sitting in the chair nearest him, eating the final bites of the food Draco had brought.

He looked good. He looked strong, regal even in that black and red uniform with the silver lining. His hair was longer. He'd forgone glasses in favor for an eye correction spell.

As Hermione and Draco found their way up the corporate ladder, so did Harry. He was a grade A-1 Transportation Official, in fact. He earned that title by the time he was twenty and - now aged twenty-one - had been all over the continent. He was never alone now, because he helped transport the live plants, the rarest of harvests, and that meant he had to have a herbologist along for the ride. He was there to get them safely to pickups and conferences, protect them should their samples be intercepted by thieves, and to make sure they were returned safely back to the institute. He was a bodyguard, really.

"You're awake," Harry said, scooping the final bite into his mouth. "Mmm. Thank you. That was good."

Draco sat up and wiped at his eyes. He was tired most of the time from work these days.

"Glad you liked it. I just came for a visit."

Harry smiled. He shaved, yes, but it must have been this morning, because a shadow was there. It looked good. It was always nice to kiss a mouth with stubble; it was a change from the soft face of a girl. Draco had certainly felt it with Ron.

"Really? I'm glad," Harry took him for his word, knowing his word was less than truthful but willing to go with it.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine. I'm not really here just to visit."

"Never are," Harry said, setting the plate down and only now reaching to untie his boots. He must have started eating right as soon as he came home, saving getting comfortable for getting full.

Draco cleared his throat.

"I, uh...know things are a bit strained between us. It's not just our differences about mother and her avant-garde motives for changing the world. It's always been that one thing, hasn't it? That one thing that happened at Hogwarts?"

Over the years, Draco had returned again and again to this topic. He couldn't say sorry enough. He couldn't buy a lighter conscious, the freedom from the soiled memory of his youth. He wished he could have, though. What sort of world was he living in if Ronald Weasley jerked him off in his office during work hours? That was Harry's thing, not his!

Oh yes, Harry's little fling with that Quidditch player. Draco was honestly jealous. Harry was vivacious when it came to Doka Bandar, and Doka was apparently into it. The years had seen Doka and Harry on again in the summer, off again in the winter, but always on again. Draco was assured it had little to do with Harry's first two dealings with sex and everything to do with Narcissa's Oblivious Unction. When she found out that Harry was having covetous relations with that Quidditch player, she apologized to Harry for making him drink so much of it that it lowered his inhibition permanently; Harry found that conversation rather degrading, because yes, her potions had left Harry a less reserved lover, which apparently drove Doka senseless (Draco was jealous of this most of all), but Harry wasn't displeased with the relationship at all.

Harry wasn't all inhibition. He only slept with Doka. He almost slept with Draco, but that was long ago.

"Draco, really?" Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light and nonjudgmental. "This again?"

"Ron Weasley came by my office a few days ago."

Harry leaned back after taking both his boots off. He unclasped some of his tighter buckles on his vest and only then seemed to relax. He sighed deeply and looked at the bookshelf near the fireplace, at a book that Draco knew was the collection of Ronald's articles in the paper.

"The restraining order is over with?"

"Hmm..." A sound in the positive direction.

It had been a year without seeing him, but also that meant it had been a year since Harry got a personal update, too.

Harry sighed, then asked, "Was he the same as ever? Still on your case? Still trying to resolve the past?"

"I don't think he was exactly the same, no..."

Harry looked back at his friend, the Slytherin. "Then...how is Ron?"

Draco perhaps wasn't expecting that phrasing. Oh, quite rough around the edges, actually.

"I mean..." Draco rubbed at his eyes. "I mean...I don't know..."

Harry wanted Ron to give him up. He never liked the idea of him living with any sense of guilt, as he himself felt guilt enough for pretending to be dead. He had more reasons than freedom for staying hidden, of course. With him dead and gone, Voldemort was dead and gone. No one questioned that over these years like they had questioned his death in 1981, when Harry was a year old and cursed the night his parents died.

"There's something else," Draco said at last.

He'd already told Narcissa and Lucius, but he said he'd be fine telling Harry in person. As he spoke of the visit with Ginny and the next few days of investigation by the Auror Department, Draco confessed his worry that they'll get a call into his the Herbology Institute about it, too. Up until now they'd been quite focused on Draco's work, but he heard rumor they were headed to the other branches as well. The potion ingredients had a minor chance of coming from their well-defended stocks, after all.

Draco so far hadn't felt a need to question who his fence sold ingredients or small batches of potions to. He and Narcissa were going to look into that.

"Things like this have happened before," Harry told him about the explosion and the case to find who had stolen or sold the regulated ingredients to brew those dangerous potions. "My coworkers talk about it from time to time. They'll investigate, maybe call us in. But it's all just noting to worry about. Thanks, though. For coming to tell me. There wasn't...some other reason for visiting?"

"Hmm...no," he said at last.

Harry nodded in conclusion, too, and stood up and walked away.

Draco followed him into his bedroom, then past the bedroom to the bathroom.

Harry was pulling off his clothes.

"Going to shower?" Draco asked nonchalantly.

"Going to watch?" Harry asked with humor.

Draco turned away when Harry's bare back was exposed. He was building muscle, that was for sure.

"No! I'm not going to watch. Who would want to watch you?"

"But you're following me," Harry observed. He dropped his shirt on the floor and pulled the tie off his hair, letting the light brown locks cascade out, of a length that only just reached his shoulders. "Are you sure there's nothing else? Something really bothering you?"

Draco stood by the bathroom door, gazing into the enchanted eyes that were shaped but not colored like the boy he'd grown up antagonizing. They got along so civilly these days...amazing how well they worked with each other.

At last, Draco confessed, "Something Ron said...made it sound like...he decided it really was me using the Polyjuice, and - and he's almost...okay letting go..."

Draco didn't have the heart to look at Harry anymore, so he didn't see the look on his eyes - the look that didn't flinch. Harry was expecting Ron to accept Draco; expecting it because he had shared the memory of that night with him. Harry had done it knowing that if Ron could see the real picture that he would know how much Harry blew apart that night and how very little discomfort he was put through by the person using the Polyjuice. Draco.

It was also a way to show he loved Ron and had been willing to be with him. Sending this message now - to an adult - was clearly received differently than the message given to Ron way back then...when the Polyjuice form had been able to take Harry's virginity.

"I don't know why he changed his mind," Draco said. "He was falling apart, you know? He was getting worse every year, and then suddenly he -"

Harry turned away suddenly, stopping Draco's train of thought.

Harry went to the shower and started the water. Then - back still turned - started undoing his pants.

Draco listened to the water falling and splashing against the tile, but turned away from the view.

"Isn't it fine that he's moving on?" Harry said, a little loudly so as to be heard over the water. "Stop worrying, then. You should be happy."

Draco heard from the scuffling and the change in water splatter that Harry had gotten into the shower. He stayed in the doorway for a time, feeling his stomach settled somewhere around his knees.

At last, he called over the running water, "I'm going to go home!"

There was no reply.

Draco left anyway.

In the shower, Harry had been hiding his ragged breathing. He felt the tears coming back when he was sitting down and had made a break for it; Draco following him forced him to withhold his emotions to a greater degree. But he felt it breaking out, and retreated for this loud alcove.

He was remembering the years in which a small glowing vial sat in his possession, wrapped in a handkerchief and put away; that memory that he'd pulled out of his head all those years before when he first moved to this cottage by the sea. It was the memory of the hospital ward. It was proof that he wasn't raped. It was everything that allowed Harry to move on. It was what Ron needed to move on, too, it seemed.

Somehow, Harry regretted giving it away. It drew tears from his eyes and a deep well opened in his chest.

To believe that Ron was moving on was a loss, one that reminded him how alone he'd been taught to be.

Interlude.

Harry drowned his sorrows in Doka's arms that evening. By work the next day, he was stiff and still sore, but hid it well. What little of his skin showed didn't show off any hints at a secret affair, but should one look under his clothes, they would have seen scratches and hickies; Doka was rather possessive when Harry got him really riled up.

Harry smacked the Firebolt into its holster and Apparated into work, ready to be greeted by a party of Baltic Aurors and a few other higher staff members. Harry tore his gaze away from the stern expressions of the local Aurors and found Emidee among the group of staff.

"Come on over, Alderbaron," she said gloomily. "It's another inspection. Quite serious."

Stupid Draco, Harry thought to himself. What if you'd waited another day to warn me about this?

But he'd been warned in time enough to have taken the precautions that he didn't always take on a regular work day. He'd downed the Abjuration of Bane to change his magical signature, and harrowed a fine dose of Beautification potion along with a sip of Platinum Binding, a twenty-four hour potion designed to resist counter potions such as that which Snape had given Harry when he first arrived to Spinner's End. Snape had sent him the recipe for both potions, with a note to be more careful next time. It was undetectable as well.

He'd left behind his usual secret stash of emergency supplies as well. He hated to leave behind his healing potion, as his job was rather dangers at times, but it had to be done.

"Glad that these things aren't done on a regular basis," Harry said as he followed Emidee.

"More often than you think, lately," she replied back to him quietly. "But not usually in this area. There are two liaison Aurors from England here to ask the questions. Here from London."

Of course this got Harry's heart racing.

Just the thought of Aurors from London...of being interviewed by them...that was different than any of the other times Harry sat in a room being questioned about how a job went down. Harry was silent as he listened to the chatter around him, following Emidee into the building and up to a line of people trailing the closed doors of a conference office. The line of Transport Officials waiting their turn to be interviewed mirrored another line somewhere further down the way, where Harry spotted Herbologists getting the same treatment. Harry was placed at the end of the line.

"Just wait here for your turn, but we're actually trying to get the A-1s and B-2s into a faster lineup, so you can get back to work sooner."

"Why just us...?" Harry found his voice was lacking.

"You've been here longest; past more tests than the rest."

As if that was obviously what made a person innocent of the crime of stealing from this place. Emidee left him there and went back to the Apparation pad to resume ushering people to the line.

"The lie detector charms have been put up," informed the wizard standing ahead of Harry, offering this advice as it was given to him minutes before.

What did Harry really care, though? It had been a long time since his magical signature alerted those types of charms of any of his wrong doings. Thank you Narcissa and your overuse of Oblivious Unction. Snape's book had discussed that as being a side effect of the potion; one of the less unwieldy side effects. Harry was still a bit shocked to know that he was given a potion so illegal as to warrant Narcissa a lifetime in Azkaban. She really was risking a lot when she had decided to purchased that potion all those years ago, but she had used it for exactly the use it was intended: rewrite a mind. In her case, she rewrote Harry's to simply move on from his trauma.

Not all traumatic things ever, mind. Just his most recent few.

Harry waited in line like he was waiting to be seen by a doctor: he heard little idle chatter, barely glanced around, and wished he could get this done already. He stood there for ten minutes before the person in the room with the Aurors came out and went on deeper into the building. The door was left open and the space between it empty for a time. Then -

Ron.

Ron in black Auror robes.

Harry recognized him immediately, and froze in that second.

"Alright, next. Come on in," Ron's deeper, adult voice carried through the silenced hall, with fifteen bodies between him and Harry. Harry hadn't heard his voice in years, and never when it was pitched down and in work-mode.

Oh, but this was him.

"This is taking a lot of time," a voice complained its opinion from somewhere mid-line.

Ron shot a scornful look down that way. Harry instinctively hid all but a peeking eye, using the person in front of him to help do so. His eyes roved over Ron. He looked for pain, for anger, but he only found resolve and fire.

"Leave now and we'll finish your interview at the Ministry of Magic in London! And I guarantee you we will make you sit in a holding cell until midnight before we start!"

He'd been holding the door open, and that witch ducked down and hurried into the room without a word.

Ron still glared out. "Anyone unclear about that? This is an investigation conducted on behalf of the Ministry of Magic! No one is exempt!"

There was silence, even some agreeing nods.

The door shut soundly.

Harry was stunned along with the rest, although for his own reasons.

He was seeing a ghost. He was seeing a memory.

He was lost in his head for a mere thirty seconds until a hand rested on his shoulder. He didn't mean to jump, but he wasn't expecting it. The Coordinator, Talia, hadn't noticed anything was wrong, though.

"Hey, Alderbaron. No more waiting in line. They've opened up a room for A-1 Transporters to get you on your way. Your team is already assembled in the meeting room on the third floor to prepare for the trip tomorrow, so you'll be first interviewed." She looked down the way, then raised her voice. "You, too, Woedem. B-2s also. Come along."

Woedem, the first trainer Harry had when he started working here, sighed in relief and followed Talia quickly. Harry tore himself out of line and walked back the way he'd come, then up a flight of stairs. Yeah, he had a meeting. Just a confab to get ready for another trip into Russia. He was familiar.

That was the only chance Harry got to see Ron.

When he went into work the next day, it was to meet with the travelers and then head right on out. It wasn't until they were back two days after that that he heard the news: the interviews came up with no leads. The Aurors had left that first day and hadn't needed to return.

Somewhere deep in his psyche he was regretful. Hiding from his old life, pretending to be dead...regretful. Whereas before he was just growing a bit restless, now it was worse.

September turned to late November, 2001.

Harry was spending the week with three Herbologists, two Astronomers, and one Arithmancer, who joined their excursion into Russia for a bit of their own research. He'd been responsible for a few out-of-branch witches and wizards from time to time, using their established routes into the remote wildernesses in Russia and China for various reasons. The group this time were low-level employees with the Lithuanian Ministry, and had eccentric ideas they sought validation of with their research here in the mountains. Harry just made sure they didn't leave their protected worksite and that they kept their hands off the Herbologist's samples, otherwise he left them to themselves.

"He is a bit of a stickler, though," complained one of the Astronomers to the lot of them as they sat around a fire eating their lunch on the last day, with about three hours left until Harry would activate the Portkeys that would return them to their country. Little did that group know that Harry had decided to pull out his Extendable Ears and listen in. He was snooping, but he was also board sitting alone by the storage area, protecting it while the others were by the fire; it was best no smoke get into the samples, but that it not be left unattended.

And these guests had taken an interest in Harry, despite him reiterating that he didn't want to cause interference into their research by joining them in idle chatter. These people had to go through quite a few hoops to be granted access to this rare opportunity, but for some reason they also treated it as a sort of vacation.

The Herbologists didn't, though; they had a lot riding on them to come back with the desired samples. And Harry had these six lives as well as the product to watch out for; he didn't have time - or the desire - to make friends.

"He is just quiet," replied one of the Herbologists.

"Why has someone so young got this position, though? Doesn't the Herbology Institute have someone more experienced...or is coming up here with us some sort of punishment?"

Over by the fire, Harry scowled.

The Herbologists seemed frustrated by this Astronomer, too. Harry had taken them out before, in fact twice before. They'd requested him as their guide each time because they felt safe with him.

"You were given his résumé when you were assigned this research task," reminded one of the Herbologists diplomatically.

Another of them was a bit irritated.

"The contract was given to the most competent," his name was Maulgafee who was defending Harry. "He's an open-air flyer with as quick reflexes - as quick as most professional Quidditch players - and who can fire off a defense spell as quickly as he can incapacitate with the next spell - like an Auror. He's a diamond in the rough, for your information."

Picking up where Maulgafee left off, the first Herbologist said, "Mr. Gravewatcher has guts and brains, is what we're saying. Would you have really come out here if you believed you were the one who would have to defend your possessions if we were taken by thieves?"

Most of the time, Harry might have waved off such respect, but he wasn't supposed to be hearing them, so he only blushed to himself. He liked that the Herbologists had these words to say about him, but his self-image preferred that they kept to themselves; always trying to stay under the radar. And truth be told, he generally couldn't have made a trip with six others like this work if there was a real threat of enemies around. He had been through the training with Buu and the others: mock attacks and scenarios. One A-1 with one other body to protect was a breeze compared to protecting six lives. Fortunately Harry kept them all close - rarely letting the group split up. It was a rule he laid out that they hadn't broken.

In the end, the Astronomer simply concluded, "Well, I feel sorry for anyone who has to live with him; I bet he's just as prickly at home."

That bloomed a bit of resentment. But he was just reminded that he was about to go back to Lithuania, where he had a meeting with Doka planned for this evening, and only had another three hours to devote to these people here in the mountains. He would endure it, even if not easily.

Before he knew it, everyone got home safe, including Harry.

He Apparated to Doka's loft; to the balcony. He usually took his Firebolt with him, just in case they decided to risk a flight at Jimualt's. Today, too - because he had the next two days off - he brought it with. He knew he wasn't going anywhere for awhile, but now and again they went for a flight after dark.

Besides, it was November and Doka was still in Lithuania. Usually he left in September, but this year he was putting off the trip. Harry was happy, because Doka wasn't at work and so on his days off he could spend the whole day with him here. They mostly kept it to the bedroom, or relaxing while talking about Quidditch. Overall, they were bonding more than they had the previous three years.

"Doka?!" Harry called into the loft.

Surprising, but Harry noticed it was a little barren compared to how it usually was. There was still furniture, but the clutter along the walls was taken care of at last.

"Did you hire a house elf?" Harry asked loudly, walking around the place.

He looked into the bedroom and the bathroom, but at last he was convinced he was alone.

Alone with boxes of Doka's stuff.

It wasn't just a house elf who could make this loft this tidy; Doka was packing up his things. He was half done with his wardrobe - extensive, as while he was with Foxy he attained globs of outfits - and nearly all done with the closets and mountains of Quidditch gear and memorabilia. Harry plopped himself onto the couch, next to a pile of old Quidditch magazines and glared at them.

He had rushed here. He had showered quickly and even pushed aside the desire for a nap first. It was only around noon, and Doka expected him later still. It was probably why he was out; not expecting him this early. Harry knew he might have caught Doka unawares, but Harry hadn't thought he'd walk in on this. Doka was packing up his things and hadn't even told him before he left that he was going to be moving.

Really, they weren't terribly close personally. Harry couldn't deny that. He'd told the Malfoys, Neville, and Captain Quintius and his girlfriend Emidee about them. Snape found out by using Veritaserum. It didn't actually occur to him to tell Remus. Long story short, there was no one Harry could introduce Doka to in his life.

It was Doka's decision to let the Captain know, just to get a feel of how much trouble he'd be in with the League if others found out. The quick response to that was to just keep it completely secret, and even Quintius would try to forget he was told. This disturbed Doka and frightened him into silence. Quintius appeared not at all bothered by them personally, but he was afraid for Doka's job - for the League had already backed him in telling everyone that there was nothing between him and Harry, so only months later having them get together would have been a hot topic that of course wouldn't have gone down well.

They had supporters who were of the old way of thinking that relationships were strictly between two genders and not just one, which would risk Doka's job if they found out.

But Harry wasn't complaining. He never had to take Doka home to visit his imaginary family, and never had to be brought home to Doka's family just so he would be forced to pretend he was thoroughly that person Alderbaron Gravewatcher. The world was ready for a gay Quidditch player, but were the other players and sponsors? No, not just yet.

So, now Doka was packing it up and hadn't told him...Harry conceded that this could just be that it was time for a change of residence. Like, he found a better deal on a place or somewhere with a better view. It could have been a million reasons that Doka was packing.

Or it could have been one: that he was moving far away. That he chose not to tell Harry. That he was escaping.

Really, while Harry was alright with their way of living their relationship, he knew better than to believe it wasn't affecting Doka. He was a celebrity Quidditch player and once highly popular in the papers while dating Foxy. His breakup with her had spurred a short time of publicity but that had quickly died down to stating he was on the market. But now, three years had passed and Doka hadn't ever been spotted out dating anyone. He didn't even pretend to be dating anyone, which Harry rather preferred over the alternative. But it was hitting him hard in interviews to have to continue to say he was just a bachelor who hadn't found 'the one.'

Harry waited forty minutes for Doka to come home. He heard his keys in the door and then voices.

And wasn't that startling?

As the door swung open, Harry swung fully over the couch to the floor on the other side. The placement of the seating was in the center of the room, and usually there was a table back there, but that had disappeared. There were only magazines here now.

Voices as Doka and his guest came in.

Harry crouched out of sight, knowing he couldn't be seen here.

" - can see the scale of the place. Hate to leave it behind, but the new place is bigger so why would I bother?" And Doka laughed.

"It looks as good as you said it'd be!" The other was also male, sounded like a big guy if voice alone was something to go on. "All right, brother! One look and I'm sold!"

"Doing me a favor," Doka said with a smile. "I didn't want it to go to a Muggle. I had so many charms put up that it'd be a pain to hire someone to come undo it all. Those Regulators are always weeks behind schedule."

Harry listened carefully to their steps as they moved around. He slid over to the far left of the back of the couch, back pressed against it and head ducked, ready to go to the arm side if they walked this deep into the room. He held his breath as they appeared to go into the kitchen, where he was still safe.

The fridge was opened and the popping sound of drinks were opened.

Great, they were visiting.

"Make sure that you don't tell me anything about what you got up to in here, though. I want to believe my cleaning spells will actually have an effect," the new guy counseled Doka.

"Good luck, there. Five years with Foxy and not even I have found a strong enough cleaning spell to get out all the stains!"

"Disgusting..." the other guy cringed.

"If you know what's good for you, you won't ask about what came after her, either, though," Doka anticipated what could have been his next question, with a highly suggestive voice.

"Oh come on. No one has seen you with anyone. You must have been as celibate as a boy scout since breaking up with her. I bet you have all the badges of a monk to prove it. Am I right?"

"Never a monk, Alanzo. Never had the self-control." Doka admitted.

"Really? Then you have some secret lover, for real? Must be some witch really embarrassed to be seen with you." Alanzo was grinning.

And now that Harry thought about it, there was a reserve player named Alanzo Drove on the team who spoke really good English. This might have been him, but without looking Harry wasn't sure.

"None of your damned business, by the way," Doka said firmly, but laughed right after.

"What did you tell her when you got sold to the Welsh National Quidditch team? How'd she take it?"

Harry's breath caught. His heart doubled up a bit, too.

Doka had been with the Welsh National's years ago before coming to Lithuania. They were a completely revamped team when the new manager, Gwenog Jones, showed up some years before. Doka had talked about that team as his favorite besides the one he was on. Harry always knew he wanted to go back, but there wasn't a reason to leave here when things were going so good.

So good before...with Foxy. But not good enough now to stay.

Harry took a deep steadying breath, and let it out quietly.

He was so caught up in his breathing that he entirely missed the rustling sound that indicated someone had moved away from the kitchen. Before he knew it, there was movement within sight. Doka had walked around to his side of the room, yet to notice him.

"Haven't broken the news yet. We haven't really got a close thing going - "

Harry thought he might have caused a heart attack at that moment. Doka had looked his way and froze, staring at the tight ball that Harry had pulled himself into where he had been hiding. If it had been the other guy that found him, there would have been some explaining to do.

But Doka had a look on his face that said everything that needed to be said.

Harry bet he did, too.

" - I mean..." Doka cleared his throat and suddenly turned around, facing his house guest again. "It's not really something I'd like to talk about." Doka swooped back to the kitchen, adding, "And I should start up with things here again, you know?"

His undertone was clear: time to go.

"Yeah," agreed the other man. "I'll sign your papers when you bring them to me, how about in the next few days? If you're out of here next week like you said, all the better; my place is far from the field."

Doka had him out of his place within the minute. He fumbled at the door, sounding for all the world casual...but not really.

The door closed and the silence was fierce.

"Alderbaron?" Doka said aloud.

Harry took another deep breath.

"You never say my name," Harry said clearly, but he still stayed back there by the couch.

Doka maneuvered around to slowly face Harry, and there was a guilty expression on his face now. When Harry saw it, he felt sorry for the man; sorry for making him have to squander his time on a dead-end relationship like the one they'd been through.

"You're breaking up with me?" Harry said bluntly, feeling small.

"Don't cling to me now!" Doka looked honestly sorry. "You come over one - sometimes two - times a week. You sneak in and out. We sneak around. The only people who know about us are ignoring it. What is it that we really have in the first place?"

Harry was stewing in his own thoughts, but was brought out of them by the last thing Doka said.

"Was it all my fault?"

Silence, but that was a loaded question Harry had asked.

Doka shook his head finally. "How can I blame just you? I'm the coward who didn't want to tell everyone about you and risk his career. If I really loved you...I would have. "

As if he only just realized what he'd said, Doka deflated. He went around and plopped himself onto the couch. Harry rose up and took a few steps away. He was facing the window and not Doka. It was an uncomfortable conversation for sure.

"Then," Harry wondered, "are you going back to dating women when you're in Wales? Done with the problems that come with dating guys? Or - or just done with me?"

Doka sighed deeply.

"I don't think I could go back to girls so easily," he said, deep voice fallen to a deeper octave at this point. Usually that deeper tone was reserved for heavy petting, when he got Doka to get into the more verbal side of his kinky ways. When they were just having sex they didn't say much, so not used then.

Harry asked with a bit of surprise, "If you have sex with another guy, would you finally think of yourself as gay, then?"

Little did Harry know that he had pierced Doka with those words. Doka hadn't ever succumbed to saying aloud that he was gay - just that he was doing gay-like things. But he had been thinking that since this whole trade with the Welsh Nationals had started a few weeks ago; that if he went with another guy, he'd have to give in and accept himself.

"Thinking of myself as gay...?" Doka let those words hang. "It probably has a bit to do with your confidence in yourself...but I'm not so terribly against calling myself that anymore."

He looked up and met Harry's eyes. He thought the world of this guy - this young man who had been every twisted desire he'd ever not-not thought about.

Harry understood. Doka, like so many, just hadn't considered it. But the things they got up to...hands, mouths, the rest...Doka enjoyed it and let it get really wild sometimes. Their skin was accustomed to the feel of each other as it was their own heartbeats. Doka knew this.

Doka confessed something then. "I revealed it in my recruitment interview with Welsh National."

"Revealed what?"

"That I'm not straight," the way he phrased it... "that they'd have to deal with that."

Harry wasn't expecting that. It stung in his chest a bit when those words landed.

"And so that's why you're going there?" Harry filled in the blank. "Because they accepted you?"

Doka nodded. "It was like this weight had lifted. I talked openly about it, fully expecting them to leave me be here in Lithuania, where I'd just go on - yeah - with you in secret. Not very fair of me...but you haven't been complaining. But they were accepting. They're a lot more progressive than here; maybe because of how close they are to League Headquarters? I'd have brought you along, but...but let's be real -"

"Doka," Harry said firmly, stopping his ramblings. "I'm sorry that I wasn't...perfect. I don't know how to be."

Doka stood up and faced Harry then. He stood there and stared for a beat. His brow was furrowed and his fists were clenched. He was over six-foot tall and could lift Harry like he weighed nothing - those arms like steel support beams and his legs like cannon fire. But right now he looked soft.

"You were perfect, fox. You are one of a kind. I'm just...ready for a partner. Ready for someone to move in with and go out with."

Make something real with.

Harry nodded, like that was good enough of a reason to break up even if Doka had decided it all on his own. Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut, though, because he was thinking that he would probably run into this hang-up if he ever tried to have a relationship with someone ever again. Besides Doka, the only attempt Harry ever tried to get with someone was with Draco. He couldn't even include Ron on the list...he'd never really tried there.

"It's not your fault," Doka said clearly, as if consumed with the sudden thought that he'd made it sound that way. Because yeah - he'd made it sound that way.

Harry didn't say anything.

"Will you ever find someone to take home, Alderbaron?" Doka whispered.

Harry honestly didn't know.

"Don't rub it in when you windup finding someone before me, will you?" Harry said with a huff. "You know as well as I do that I'm not exactly surrounded by people offering it up. I haven't got a single offer my whole life besides that blonde from years ago."

Doka's inner asshole came out then, and he barked a laugh. "You'd have eaten that kid alive if you'd stayed with him! After what we did our first time together, that kid would have gone bawling home to mama!"

Harry's voice grew a little more relaxed, always comforted by Doka's charm. "You never know what the future has in order," he said wisely. "Probably not another Quidditch player, though."

Doka chuckled again. "I guess I really am a catch, then?"

Harry agreed with a sly smile and a roll of his eyes. He went over to where he left his Firebolt and took it up. He was ready to go. Ready to leave for the last time.

Doka suddenly surged forward and wrapped Harry in a big, tight squeeze. Harry made it up only past his shoulders, so his neck was arched up so he could keep breathing. He hugged back.

"Fucks sake..." Doka mumbled against Harry's hair. "I wanted to tell you about the trade a month ago. I'm sorry I didn't. I'm fucking stupid. We probably could have worked this out if I had..."

Harry shook his head. Eyes flitting shut.

"Sorry, Doka. But my life is here. Would have meant you wanted me to come along with you, and I would have said 'no.' We both know that's why you didn't; you already knew my answer."

Doka let Harry go and turned away, hiding his face. Harry left a lingering touch on his ex-lover's arm. It was a last comfort for this man who's mind was normal; not rebuilt on potions that left the person abnormally detached from trauma.

"Goodbye, Doka," Harry said.

"Later, fox," Doka replied hoarsely.

Early February, 2002.

Three months after breaking up with Doka, Harry had been running a lot of little jobs for work. The colder months left the Herbologists rather unwilling to go out collecting, but this time of year there was a lot still to do in the cities. Meetings were a given. The Eight Companies did a lot of planning for the seasons around this time, so Harry and other A-1s were accompanying the higher-ups between locations. He'd spent all the winter months dealing with them, but in a nice twist of fate, Harry found himself today headed south-west to Warsaw Central with Neville Longbottom.

Well, in counter to this being a rare occasion, Harry saw Neville Longbottom most days at work, too. There was some sort of comfort in seeing Neville changing as he grew into an adult that Harry didn't get to see otherwise, as he didn't see too many people his age. Draco was moving along and up in his career, but besides coming by to help brew, wasn't much of an example. While Harry himself had a strong career, and a dedication and thoroughness of living as Alderbaron Gravewatcher, he shouldn't act like he had any misgivings about the lot in life he was given.

He use to have no desire to give it all up for a taste of his old life, but the years were spreading out and so was his endurance. Neville was the taste of home he needed now and again.

Neville was Harry's age, twenty-one, and had worked more than diligently for his present position at the Herbology Institute. Neville was widely sought after by the time he'd catalogued a new method for cultivating the genus asphodel, too. His plants were of the highest quality, and there were less shortages of the rarer, more fickle to grow asphodel plants than ever before. He oversaw a small wing in the large herbology facility now.

They were on a Muggle train running a rather less than taxing errand. Neville was on the tail end of a tour to speak about his discovery. In major cities, potioneers and herbologists gathered to listen to him speak and present his findings. Asphodel was widely used in Love potions, so of course this garnered media attention and a buzz among the community. Harry had listened to two other speeches already and winced a little when he had to explain that he began his research at Hogwarts. He left out the part of the story that resulted in Harry Potter inhaling some of the pollen and becoming intoxicated, only to send him spiraling into imminent death... But that was up to interpretation anyway.

Harry overall found Neville a very good speaker.

There were five total seminars to be made, with today's being the last one. Neville's minor fame made his job difficult, as toting a celebrity around meant they were more of a target. But at the moment Harry laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes, feeling like right now there was nearly nothing that could be done to them. The motor of the transit was lulling him into comfort and the scenery rushing by made him imagine he was flying. It was a nice atmosphere.

"Tired?" Neville asked.

They'd mostly had a quiet trip, with Neville going over his notes. But he'd looked up when he heard Harry's soft sigh.

Harry shook his head, not opening his eyes. "Not really."

"Are you feeling okay?"

Harry nodded.

"Not missing Doka, are you?"

Neville was quite aware of Harry's recent breakup. Harry had even been keeping his nose away from the news and out of the magazines, trying not to accidently catch an article about him.

Harry signed again before opening his eyes and looking at Neville. "Can't say I don't miss him entirely. But he was usually getting back from Wales about this time after spending the winter there with his family. I didn't pretend all winter that he was coming back...but I guess now that the season is over, I'm really starting to feel him to be gone."

Neville had his face in his notes a moment ago, but now he folded up the pages and put them back in his briefcase, where everything else he brought on this trip was. There was a slew of sample plants in there, as well as goody bags for the guests. It was a trove of regulated plants; hence again Harry's presence and their low-key travel plans.

Neville gave Harry his attention now. It made Harry forget for a moment that he was alone in the world. It made him smile.

"I'm not terribly depressed about it, Nev," Harry said. "It wasn't like we were going anywhere."

"Maybe not. But you were together a long time. I guess you could do with someone a bit more your type, though."

That brought Harry up short. He gave a startled laugh.

Neville shrugged but looked like there was more to be said.

"What do you mean?" Harry nudged.

Neville held his thoughts in long enough to really make Harry squirm.

"Come on, tell me?"

Neville smiled shyly. "Alright...but this is just my take on it, and I hope you aren't offended or anything. But...your type? Doka wasn't really it."

"A handsome Quidditch player built like a tank isn't my type?" Harry wondered sarcastically. He'd had so much fun with Doka that it couldn't be denied that he wasn't partially Harry's type.

"That's just physically," he went on. "And really - even you said something like this to me one time - you two were mostly on a physical level. But you put your life on the line for work. You sacrifice your time for others. You are the sort of person to match better with someone who does the same. Someone who is selfless and work-oriented like you."

Was he getting the feeling that Neville was plotting a little match making?

The very idea stretched a humorous smile across Harry's lips. Harry had to ask, "Is there someone you have in mind?"

Neville suddenly erupted in embarrassment and blushed. "Well - well, I mean...I have been thinking about someone..."

Harry laughed and relaxed even more. "How long have you been waiting to tell me?"

Neville was glancing all about, hardly able to meet Harry's eyes. He was jittery like never before, which was fun to watch.

"Not long. Well - for some time, actually. No lie; about five...six months now? Not with any real intention of telling you until recently," he was trying to keep his own jovial smile at bay, appearing quite flustered with his offering. "I've been keeping up with him. I went to holidays with him, too. He invited me and I...mean...he seems the type who might really make a connection with you -"

Harry had been giving Neville his full attention, but there was a glimmer of dark movement out of the corner of his eye. Harry was reacting before he even looked.

He dove onto Neville, tearing him from his seat and blasting a Shield spell against the wall of the train with the window.

There had been a figure on a broom that came up along the side of the train. Harry's spell had saved them from another spell that had blasted open the wall of the compartment.

"Relax! Breathe out!" Harry commanded, arms held tightly around Neville as he Apparated them away in that instant.

They appeared in a field a mile away, with the train only a small moving silver snake in the distance. They were crouching together but Harry now held Neville at arm's length, taking a look at him. Neville looked first relieved, then suddenly horrified. He held out his empty hands and looked at them with wide, fearful eyes.

Harry didn't have to ask. Neville had set the briefcase down next to him when they had were chatting. He hadn't been holding it during the Apparation.

In the next moment, Harry Disapparated and reappeared exactly where he had left from moments before. He was a trained wizard in the skill of Apparation, and even though his target was moving, he was exactly again where his feet had once been.

There was a man before him with his hands on the briefcase.

There was now a man with a bloody face and a broken nose before him, with his hands no longer on the briefcase. It was in Harry's possession now.

Only now did Harry raise his wand to cast a Binding spell, but then he caught the sight of another rider on a broom coming up alongside them. He turned his wand to the newcomer and cast two quick Vertigo spells. The flyer dodged both, which left Harry in a dangerous way, because he'd left himself open to the wizard with the broken nose.

Harry's instincts kicked in again, and he was jumping out of the way of a curse while he was whipping out his Firebolt. He stabilized himself once he was out of the broken side of the train cart, flying back for the tail of the train. He rose above it, moving along the silver top in the puff of black smoke that came from what was once his cart. He used this moment to cast a Concealment spell, shedding his body in a hazy miasma that had once saved him from being found by the Bladquesters.

Harry used the smoke as his cover and caught sight of the two on brooms leaving the scene. He had the briefcase and had probably spooked them, but they were dangerous and had to be stopped.

Harry took after them, casting spells after their darting forms. His sudden appearance took one out swiftly, sending him flipping and spiraling down. Harry's Binding spell had finally hit its mark.

He chased the other over farm houses and lost him when he Apparated.

"Damn!" Harry cursed. Not all wizards were capable of doing that while on a broom.

He'd lost him.

Harry slowed his flight and snarled, angry that he'd lost one. He had left his primary target behind, though, and before he was going to find the fallen form of the attacker, he was going to make sure he got eyes on Neville.

Harry shed his black smoke spell and - with the briefcase in hand - Apparated to where he left Neville.

Harry stood on the exact same hill, with a view of the slowing train within sight, but there was no Neville.

Harry panicked. He yelled into the emptiness. "Neville! Neville!"

From a short distance down the hill came a quiet shout. Harry took to his broom and followed the sound. Neville had run back towards the train, not believing that Harry was coming right back. The adrenaline and worry started to fade when Harry caught sight of Neville again.

"Where were you planning on running to?" Harry asked him.

Neville was out of breath and huffing when they intercepted. He gratefully stopped moving his legs and accepted the briefcase back, opened it and sighed.

A spell nearly blasted the briefcase out of Neville's hands, but instead just barely flew over it - between the two of them - and blasted apart a shrub. Neville fell backwards, slamming shut the briefcase in a dexterous all-in-one-move.

Harry fired another Shield spell over Neville's prone form.

He could be embarrassed later for being jumped, but right now he had to defend Neville and the briefcase from the returning attacker.

Harry mounted his broom and went for the man on the other Firebolt, meaning to meet him head-on and far away from Neville. Harry turned his broom to intercept when the other turned to dodge, Harry firing spells as he followed after.

Then all at once there were more of them. Harry caught sight of three more forms ahead. It was a trap.

Harry Apparated immediately back to Neville.

He was still laying in the grass.

"We've got to go!"

Shouts. The view of four - no - five black cloaks on brooms coming their way.

Neville froze up. No good to Apparate with such a stiff body, but what was Harry to do? He dove onto Neville and wrapped his arms around him tightly, then Apparated them again away from the oncoming mob.

This time, his long distance Apparation didn't fare well.

"AHHHHH!" Screamed Neville in utter pain.

Harry felt it too, but only groaned.

They'd splinched arms and were in a bad way. They'd been facing eachother, so it was Harry's left and Neville's right arms that were crossed. It looked like some sort of ghost walking through another body, but had just stopped mid stride. Harry could feel and wiggle his fingers, but it was excruciating. And Neville was trying to jerk his arm back.

"Stop!" Harry gasped.

Neville did, but kept shaking. They were as one now, the blood only just starting to flow from the ripping wound where their flesh was barely sealed.

"AHHHHH!"

The healing potion was in Harry's pocket, as were a few other potions.

"HELP! HELP!" Neville had finally found words through the pain.

Harry was the help, but he didn't want to say that. He looked around for the attackers even as he fished for the healing potion.

"Drink this!" Harry commanded, uncorking the drink with his teeth and pouring it into Neville's mouth.

He drank like a pro, with Harry taking a sip after he was sure the majority of it went into Neville's mouth.

"Hurts still! Hurts! Help!" Neville was panicking and still shaking. Yes, it still felt like his arm had been ripped in half, but they wouldn't bleed to death now.

Harry took out another potion, drinking a sip of this one without sharing. It was Abjuration of Bane. Then he tossed the whole pouch and the potion onto the ground under a red berry shrub and picked up his Firebolt again. He'd left it floating by his side when he got the potions.

"Get on -" Harry demanded through gritting teeth. Neville was hesitant to comply with him, which irked Harry. "- on, now! On!"

Using a commanding tone to save his mark's life was paramount.

Neville sat backwards on the broom, facing Harry, briefcase wedged between their chests. Their arms forced them into this position, but Harry needed them this way.

He kicked them into the air and steered as best he could as he powered forward.

They were in Lomza, Poland. He'd delivered supplies to a potioneer with a small shop around here regularly while he was still a simple delivery boy. He knew it was close to the train tracks. He had tried to get them here safely, knowing the old wizard had a connection to the Floo Network, but he'd Splinched them a mile from his target.

He had six other possible exit points to escape to while along this journey from start to finish, planning it this way as all were at least mildly within Apparation range. He wasn't an A-1 without a reason; he was tactful.

He was resourceful.

He was capable.

The pain made it tough to keep telling himself this, though.

"Hurry -!" Moaned Neville, nearing the end of his endurance. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was gritting his teeth.

"Hang on -" Harry pleaded.

Harry flew them low and fast. He was charmed not to be seen at a certain fast speed unless the other moving object was going along their same direction. It made traveling over all these Muggle houses less of a worry. He took them to the familiar red-roofed wizard's residence with the large plot of land surrounding it and slowed down only enough to grab the door handle.

They sailed through, touching down and only staying on their feet because Harry kept most of Neville's weight on the broom.

There was a shout and then an explosion - a potion explosion as the potioneer was interrupted and destroyed his own brew.

"We've splinched!" Harry gasped once he found his footing. "Let us use your Floo!"

Whatever Polish the old wizard strung together never stopped stringing. He rushed his words and his singed and potion-splattered body over to his fireplace, where he snatched a bowl off the top and held out for Harry as he hobbled him and Neville over to it.

Harry took a pinch between his shaking and blood-splattered fingers.

"Hold on tight!" He warned, and Neville clung to him, face pressed against his shoulder, eyes closed.

Harry tossed the pinch in and shouted, "St. Maladia's!"

Then he didn't so much as step through as he did fall through.

Thirty minutes later, a notice is given from one Ministry to another.

"We have two civilians in the hospital. They splinched while trying to get away from thieves on brooms. They confirm they saw half a dozen attackers. They're the first to confirm our suspicions...this is a group effort. Will you send a team to investigate?"

"Affirmative!" Shouted the Auror at the messages desk at the Ministry of Magic in London.

He was out of his seat and bolting down the hall. He had manors so he knocked, but it was like a rabbit's back leg as it tested the area for danger. Da-da-da-da!

"Come in!" Captain Hermione Granger's voice was clear.

The Auror swung the door open and relayed the message as urgently as it had been given to him.

Hermione was out of her office, scanning the floor for two free agents she knew were up to the task.

"Weasley! Williamson! For Merlin's sake get in here right now!"

"Where's the fire?" Ron asked from across the way, still in his seat.

"Not under your ass, Ronald, which is where I'd prefer it be!" Hermione scolded, much to his embarrassment and everyone else's pleasure.

Ron felt a blush up to his ears as he stomped into her office behind Williamson.

"Gonna quote you," Ron said irritated, "'Professionalism is the heart of this,' wasn't it?"

But Hermione just beamed at him, bringing him up short. "We got a lead! Get in here; I'm putting you on it!"

The taskforce to investigate at St. Maladia's in Poland was going to start with the two of them, but tomorrow partners Moody and Tonks were going to join in. At that time, they'll have a full report for Hermione and the Auror office, and hopefully some arrests, although that was pushing it. Those were the spoken words, the silent words were: the Auror office was starting to look bad for having no clue as to where these people were coming from, or where they were going to hit next. Hermione was starting to consider stationing undercover Aurors posing as Transportation Officials at the Potion's Institute...she was getting desperate.

Ron went with Williamson to the dispatcher's office for some gear. The travel cloaks were part of the makeup when they went over borders, and the gizmos for translation were put into place in the form of what appeared to be flimsy wireless Muggle headphones from some time in the late '80's. Ron went for the black pair after Williamson already reached out and was rewarded with a scowl. Honestly, he did it because the red pair would have clashed with his natural hair color...he really had some explaining to do if he was going to slow down a case just to switch devises because of personal preference!

As he picked up the red pair, Williamson said, "It's not going to be like this the whole time, is it?"

Ron kicked himself.

Not fucking professional, he chided. But his reflection thanked him.

"No, Williamson. I'll fucking cool it down..." Ron really was a bit sorry.

Williamson finished first and went to the Floo, where Ron joined him. Hermione and a group of others were there, having had to work quickly to open a direct channel to Poland.

"Any last words?" Ron asked her as he went up, taking a pinch of Floo powder offered him.

"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do," she told him. The words 'congenital idiot' were implicit.

"Keep your hair on," Ron said as his only affirmative.

She wasn't impressed.

"This case will get our thorough attention, ma'am," said Williamson, giving Ron another glare. He was clearly trying to take the lead over Ron. Yeah, he had the age, but Ron had the thick headedness and the popularity; it would be a tough call who would come out on top.

Williamson was a man who took things seriously...if not a bit too seriously. He was also twice Ron's age and detested the attitude Ron carried because it always had side effects on those around him. When that case with the counterfeit Muggle jewelry went down two months ago, it was the three Aurors working around Ron that had to get patched up because he rushed the suspect and tackled him, exploding a trap. It was Ron's hungry-to-be-in-danger attitude that really irked the family man - father of three.

Hermione clearly took a liking to Williamson, though.

"We've set up the Floo line to Poland," she said. "You two have your orders. Williamson, you'll take the lead - "

"Come on -!" Ron began his protest.

"That's my final word!" She was a woman who had a moral code that very simple: you are with the system or you are not. Actions and words always seemed to speak at the same volume with her; she was intense. "Don't make any trouble over there, Weasley! I don't want another outburst like the last time you went overseas for this case! You're following Williamson. That's that!"

Ron had pushed his friends and family through countless trials, chiseling them down into bossy essences like what Hermione had become. Ginny wasn't bossy; she was sneaky, always looking for clues as to what Ron's life was now that he never did anything more than work like a mindless angry drone. Fred - also living with Ron at his house - was like a mother hen to him; packing lunches and leaving little nice notes. He couldn't count the number of times that he had truly hurt the people in his life because of his temper. No, not a cruel temper, just a lost and stumbling one.

Ron felt the authority figures all around him and bristled. He preferred being left out of the hierarchy, really. "I'm ready to go now! Who's with me?" Ron shot to Williamson.

A smirk crossed Hermione's lips then. "Thanks so very for letting us know. Use the words 'Following Captain's Orders' to get to the hospital. There will be an Auror waiting for you when you get there."

Ron about lost it. There were more than a few snickering people standing around now. Clearly, that moment they took getting their gear ready was a little too long, or otherwise they wouldn't have had time to think up shit like this.

Without much delay in checking for the go-ahead, Ron threw his damn pinch of powder into the Flooplace and called out, clear as day, "'Following Captain's Orders!"

He stepped into the Flooplace, arm twisted behind his back and scratching the middle of it with two fingers as he was swallowed up in green flames.

St. Maladia's, not long later.

The hospital took care of their sudden guests like there had been a plan for their arrival all along. They were given pain relieving potions and Neville's splinched arm was fixed up really fast, now wrapped in a bandage. He was feeling so much better, but he had just received word that they had a hard time with Harry's wound, stating that his was just a little more complicated to heal.

Neville was now standing outside the room Alderbaron was laying unconscious in, looking in on him as a mediwitch checked him over. His arm was also bandaged all the way up. He was still in his uniform from the waist down, but his vest and shirt had been removed to expose the damage done by the splinch. His hair cascaded over a pillow. Neville was a little hesitant to say, but Alderbaron was fit as a fiddle, with a flat and toned stomach being the least of it.

He was assured that he was charmed asleep, and had not received any head trauma at all, but just seeing him laying there in the hospital bed made Neville feel uncomfortable. This was why Neville waited in the hall.

Awhile ago, another A-1 Transportation Official, Hau Buu, arrived with the Coordinator, Talia Visicala, after Neville sent word about the attack. They took the Floo directly, but Talia's bodyguard stayed close and on alert anyway. She had quickly filed a report with Aurors, who arrived swiftly and had already taken Neville's statement. Neville was told to stay close to Alderbaron, as there would be more Aurors soon to get both their statements. Alderbaron needed a bit more work done, and until then the officials were going to have to wait.

The theft tied in with a series of events not only in England but across all of Europe. A few months ago, when Neville had been interviewed by the Aurors who had come from the U.K., he never thought the thieves would have struck him personally. So Neville stood there like a silent specter upon his friend who had saved him, wishing he had prepared more and been ready for anything.

"Better we see each other like this than never at all," said a voice coming up upon Neville.

The tall, red head in Auror garb was none other than a very welcome friend.

"Ron!" Neville instantly put on a smile. "Merlin, I didn't know you would come! What a surprise!"

"Someone had to. This is a top Ministry case. This has become a nationwide manhunt."

Neville's right arm was in the cast, so when Ron came up to his side, he instead thumped him on the shoulder with his good limb. "Good to see you again!"

"You, too. I snuck away when I heard it was you who got attacked. My superior is back there talking with the rest, so they weren't really watching me. Came to find you." Ron gave a genuine smile and took a moment to let his old friend sink into his sights before he indicated the room Neville stood next to. "And who are you looking in on here? Is it your bodyguard who got you out of there?"

Neville snorted a laugh. "He's a glorified bodyguard, but a real A-1 Transportation Official. Probably one of the best there is. I'm glad he was with me!"

Neville stood back from the door he had been blocking to let Ron have a peek in. Ron leaned a hand against the doorframe and did just that. When his eyes landed on the still form on the bed, with the mediwitch still checking over him, he didn't quite react more than to just stare evenly.

And stare.

And stare.

Neville caught on. "I know... He looks like him, doesn't he? Around the nose. And the eyes. And sometimes the way he smiles."

"Not smiling now..." Ron muttered. He was definitely struck by the person's resemblance to someone they use to know. "Who is that?"

"Alderbaron Gravewater," he introduced him. "He got me out of that mess. He reacted so fast. He Apparated us off the train in an instant. I didn't even have time to get scared. We...we lost the product. It was a successful robbery," Neville confessed.

When he'd opened that briefcase, the damn thing had been empty.

Ron didn't look away even as he said, "Yeah, they said. Bunch of love potion plants. Can't really see them making any Muggle killing potions with those. But you're alive. That's more than some can say about these thefts."

The stare he was giving Alderbaron made Neville uneasy just a little. Ron's eyes were intense, furrowed and examining something that was just a little too irksome. Neville filled the empty space with his words.

"The splinch happened because of me... The mediwizards told me it was probably because I was tensed up and not focusing. He still got us to a Floo Network and got us here, though."

"He looks..." But Ron was unwilling to say the name.

Neville noticed that last time they met, too; Ron wasn't saying Harry's name. Wasn't even trying to talk about him. Wasn't even trying to remember him.

When Ron looked away at last, it was to glance over at Neville with a sudden surprised look.

"Is this who you wanted me to meet?!" Ron blared.

Neville took half a step back and looked like a startled deer. "Well, yeah!"

They had met three months ago, when Ron had showed up that last November to take the statements of those who worked at the Herbology Institute. Neville had been interviewed by a different lot of people, but had heard that it was an Aurora Weasley who was visiting there and had gone to see if it was him or Ginny, knowing both were Aurors now.

At that time, it had been on Neville's mind a lot to see what Ron thought about meeting someone like Alderbaron, but the more they chatted the more sure of himself that it would be okay - that it wouldn't be like replacing Harry Potter in Ron's eyes, but more like introducing him to someone that they could really get along with together; like, the three of them going out to eat together.

Not like together together.

But Alderbaron was charming and had lured a professional Quidditch player into his bed. Neville knew the risks of introducing them...now that the A-1's bed was empty, he might actually attempt that with another unsuspecting wizard. So, when Neville had been invited over to Ron's parent's house for Christmas as his guest - when he knew that Alderbaron had already broke up with Doka and was feeling a bit lonely - Neville had just blurted it out: "There's someone I think you'd like to meet...you know...someone I think you'll like?"

Even back then, though, Neville had known it was an iffy match.

Ron was still wounded from his loss as a sixteen year old.

"How long have you known him?!" Ron suddenly demanded to know.

"A long time? I don't know. I've known him since I started working at the Institute. He was a year older and already established there. He's from Canada. His parents live around the Institute, and his grandparents live in - I forget? Kaunas, I think?"

Ron stared at Neville, searching him for any dishonesty.

"He's gay," Neville blurted as the last thing he knew. Second to last - "and single!"

Ron's mouth dropped.

"He's also going to be waking up in a second here, gentlemen!" Said the smirking mediwitch who had overheard everything they had just said.

Ron and Neville looked on as the mediwitch waved her wand and awoke the prone patient. She leaned over him, holding a firm hand to his good shoulder.

"Steady - steady," she repeated rhythmically. "Steady - steady..."

Upon awaking.

He woke up with a groan and the solid feeling of a bound up left arm. It didn't take a moment to remember falling through the Floo Network onto the floor of the hospital, screaming in pain as Neville and he landed so awkwardly that they nearly tore their splinched arms apart. He saw the spell come down upon him that brought blissful unconsciousness.

But now the light returned as well as the warning from a firm voice.

"Steady - steady..."

He opened his eyes - magically corrected when he started taking those longer and more dangerous trips - and saw the classic residence of a hospital patient, with a floating curtain and everything.

He immediately started pondering how he would get out of this. How long was he out? How much longer would his concealment potions stay in effect? He registered movement at the door a bit late and turned his head over. His vision cleared and he registered a person standing there.

He was like a Weasley, tall, red hair, freckles. It was irksome like always to see someone look like this and have to always stay half a room away - minimum - or risk his heart ruining his brain.

"Steady - steady," continued the firm voice, now coming in more clearly to his other side.

He looked away from the blurry redhead and over at her.

"You feeling alright?" asked the mediwitch.

Harry grunted and nodded. She smiled.

"Well, you've just woken up, so no matter how eager this Auror is, I'm going to let you take your time to sit up and prepare yourself. You're not in any real danger anymore, Mr. Gravewatcher. You can answer his questions, but it's doctor's orders that he give you a minute or two to get yourself back together."

That last bit was said with her eyes planted on the red head by the door.

Harry's mediwitch left his side and exited the room by way of that crowded doorway.

Harry closed his eyes for a beat and breathed a few times. He hadn't asked how long he had been asleep. Stupid. But she had called him Gravewatcher, so his cover was still intact. So, not twelve hours, then. He didn't feel altogether awful. Whatever magic they had done hadn't really affected his mind. It wasn't even like they'd given him Calming Drought; he didn't even feel loopy. But his arm was stiff and numb and his guts were all shaken up. He'd always had a propensity for splinching with internal bleeding, as proven by his many training days with Lucius at Malfoy Manor. It looked like today he suffered a bit of that, along with the double-splinch through Neville's arm, too.

"When you're feeling up to it..." said a patient voice from the doorway.

Harry signed, not even looking. Yeah. He knew they were eager. He appreciated the tone of voice, though; it almost seemed like he really would get a minute to regroup.

He took a shallow breath, eyes closed in the effort of his next move, and rolled over on his side a bit as he pulled himself up. He was achy, yeah. He also felt a draft from his naked torso. His legs dangled over the edge of the bed - shoes on, check. Pants on, check - but shirt off. The bandages were rather hefty, circling around his neck, crossing his chest, too, and yeah, going fully down his left arm to his palm so only his fingers and thumb stuck out. All this was taken in while his head and shoulders were slumped over, hair fallen to either side of his head, ears just poking out.

He took another deep breath and finally looked up.

Yeah, the redhead was a sight for sore eyes. All tall, lean, young, too.

Neville was there, smiling weakly as he watched him get himself together.

But the redhead...

As Harry's vision fully came back to him, the nuances of those freckles came into focus, and the shape of the straight nose brought back memories, and the arch of the red eyebrows screamed familiarity, and the depth of the eyelids drew him into the final piece of the puzzle...

It clicked.

It clicked that - This. Was. Ron.

This was his test. Before, three months ago in September when he'd seen him at the Herbology Institute threatening people in the hall, that had been a quick study guide. This was the real test.

Harry stayed there, with his hand rubbing his shoulder and arm, reading the rules to the test at first.

Across the tiled floor, just looking at Ron for now, it was easy to keep his cool, because he was such an empty husk after all these years. He use to need his fill of Ron; needed to be by him and talk to him and keep him close. At Hogwarts, Harry was a needy little admirer of Ron's, but it had been years; Harry's reserves had dried up. He was an empty flask with so much room inside that even with Ron this close and with eyes on him - focused on him - it would be hours or days or years or never until Harry was full enough to admit that he could finally be satisfied.

So, not satisfied enough to admit this was startling, yet. Not just the presence of Ron could do that. Harry was too dry and empty yet.

The test would now move on to the next phase.

Ron stood in the doorway staring back, not as vacantly. Ron looked like he was seeing a ghost, actually. He was getting redder in the cheeks the longer Harry scored him with those charmed-blue eyes.

Harry knew that it was his duty not to have a reaction, too. For Narcissa, for all her help towards him over the years, it was his duty to keep himself hidden. Her Oblivious Unction taught him to mend the ruptures of his mind; mend him into a functional person again. He was told to find himself, steady himself, return to her so he could move forward in life. She never told him to forget anything. She simply told him to not let those things that happened to him stop him. Find a way forward. Look for something else.

So his old desires and loves never stopped, they simply were left behind as he found a new life for a little while.

He had suspected the Oblivious Unction hadn't unwritten him when he'd first met Neville - when he'd panicked and had relied on Calming Drought to sustain him at that time. He'd been panicking out of fear for being found out, but later he had dealt with that fear.

Then, years later, he not only dealt with the panic and fear of being discovered by Severus Snape, but he had faced it without breaking. He'd stood side by side Snape at that awards ceremony, had faced Snape in the hall later, too. Then, though it took months and months, Harry had walked right into Snape's life and found it habitable.

Then came Remus. Harry knew then that the love and loss he felt for that man was there and strong. It was just dormant until he was thrust face to face. He had practically tried to take bites out of the werewolf, trying to eat him up and fill himself with him...fill this void he felt in himself. Clearly, the Oblivious Unction had a hold over his mind most of the time, but when faced with the past it taught him to leave behind, it no longer had as great a hold.

But meeting Ron was a little different than the rest, wasn't he?

Harry's heart grew up with Ron, grew into him, and was left with him when he was torn away all those years ago. Harry hadn't seen it in awhile; he was uncomfortable with the feeling of it. It wasn't like with Remus...Ron was part of Harry's mending mind, and therefore trapped in the magic of the Oblivious Unction so much stronger...it would take time to remember his feelings.

Ron, dressed as an Auror, ready to get his statement after the ambush, looking like he'd seen a ghost...

Harry knew what this was and he...yeah, he could do this.

The next part of the test.

Something must have changed in the way he was looking at the two of them, because Neville felt encouraged to say, "Alderbaron, don't worry, okay? I know this Auror. We went to school together when we were just kids. He's here about the attack."

Harry nodded. "Sure," his voice was calm. He was still rubbing his sore arm over the bandages, distracted by his own thoughts, but added, "I could answer your questions now."

Ron stepped in at last, moving slowly, each step calculated as the distance between them melded. For Ron, there was a risk of walking right into this person; he wasn't sure if he wanted or needed to reach him and give him a good poke, just to make sure he was real.

Ron didn't quite stop where any usual person might have. As an Auror, he was trained quite well to stand in a defensive way, make sure he couldn't be taken by surprise. Instead of following any of his training, though, Ron took an extra step forward, towering, looking down at Harry as he sat slumped on that hospital bed. He took in familiar-and-yet-not features, focusing on his smooth-no-lightning-bolt-scar forehead, looking at eyes-not-green, and then taking in his adult-not-killed-when-sixteen form in total.

Whereas before Harry had tried to eat Remus alive, it was like being eaten alive now to be this close to Ron.

He noticed his heartbeat just then. No, it hadn't sped up...it was just apparent as it pounded the inside of his ribcage, pumped his blood, jolting the organs nearby it over and over. It must be hell to be the lung that was set next to the heart, to always have it beating on the tissue and shaking up the air inside.

Harry knew what Ron looked for, but that scar was a long-ago memory, covered constantly by the potions he drank to alter his appearance. Not enough, though, as he always knew those who once knew him always thought he was still reminiscent of the dead Harry Potter even with the altered appearance.

"I'm Ronald Weasley. Auror. Auror Weasley," Ron was flustered. He cleared his throat. "I'm here to take your official statement about the train attack that occurred about an hour ago."

Harry was relieved in a major way. His face relaxed and he might have even smiled unintentionally. An hour. Good. Plenty of time.

Harry nodded. "I can give you that," he said, making sure each word was laced with at least a little of the accent from Lithuania. His voice had deepened since he was a teenager, but he still had to work a little at his masquerade.

Ron cleared his throat again and persisted forcefully, "And I'll need to know how to get in contact with you! I'll need a copy of your medical records made today! And the declaration for the Floo access to your work!"

Ron really was flustered.

Behind him, Neville snorted.

Ron turned to him. He didn't just look. He glared. "What?!"

Neville tried but failed to hide a grin. "Nothing! You need all that from me, too?"

Ron's shoulders seemed to set into a stiff posture then. His hands fisted, too. It appeared that he realized how flustered he had become. Taking a step away from Harry, Ron looked back at him and felt an edge fall away.

Suddenly a new voice.

"He's awake?"

And a familiar voice.

"Alderbaron!"

Harry's room was filled with three more people, with two staying outside: Neville and Buu. Ron stood by Harry's bed, Talia came over to him and gripped his good hand, and two Aurors came in behind her as well. One wore Polish Auror robes, and the other wore a similar long outer robe as Ron along with red headphones over his head. Harry caught a movement: he saw Ron now lift similar headphones that had been around his neck and put them over his own ears.

The Polish Auror spoke in his native language, to which Harry understood nothing. But he was replied to in English by the other Auror easily. "Only if his statement is telling enough. But it would take a miracle find who did this based on his statement alone."

"Worth a try," Talia said breathlessly, speaking to him with a clipped tone. Harry got the feeling she didn't like this guy Ron had come with. "He'll tell you everything, Auror Williamson. Mr. Gravewatcher has great insight into people. He can spot details better than you may think." Then, to Harry, she said, "Tell them everything. I'm going to head back with Hao and leave this to the Aurors. Fill me in when you come back to work - a week off at least to heal from this splinching ordeal. Okay?"

She was his boss, but honestly a humane one. As the Coordinator of the distribution of all things leaving the Herbology Institute, she was well aware of the risks her Transportation Officials were taking. She'd been taking these attacks quite seriously, doubling up transporters on some of the more risky deliveries. But Harry and Neville's trip into Warsaw hadn't seemed terribly dangerous...they were just going for a seminar about asphodel. Not exactly hard to find!

"I hope you can find who did this," she said, face grim as she left.

Harry hadn't realized it, but the moment she left his full attention was brought back to Ron like a magnet. She was just a little distraction, it seemed, and the other two were about to start up in her place. But from then on, Harry had an eye on Ron, whether it was on his face, his body, or even his shoes...it was locked.

The room took on an air of changing. The two women now gone, leaving three Aurors and two witnesses. Neville was brought into the room and took a seat next to Harry. Ron stayed close, almost like a barrier between the two on the bed and the two facing them. The other two were leading the show, it seemed. Harry got the feeling they were the boss-pleasing sort of people.

Their bandaged arms were logged in the pages of the medical report printed and given out to Auror Williamson. He was leafing through Harry's now, with the other Auror looking over at them, too.

"You've had some complications...residue magic and Apparation difficulty..." he was observing.

Harry knew the Abjuration of Bane was the reason.

"He's actually really good at Apparation," Neville put in. "I was the complication."

Williamson and the Polish Auror both nodded at that, to which Neville didn't look totally pleased.

Harry noticed and took pity. He spoke quietly to Neville. "It's alright. It's fine. It's not that bad."

"It looked and felt pretty bad," Neville said meekly.

Harry smiled. "Maybe from your end. Peachy from mine. It was bound to happen at least once. I'm just sorry I hurt you. I pushed the Apparation too far. I wanted to get you out."

"You're not angry at me?"

Harry shook his head.

"Right, let's break this up and get down to business," said Auror Williamson, taking back the lead of the conversation and pulling the two civilian attentions' back to him.

Ron found his heart aching. This wasn't his Harry, but this person reminded him so much of him. Hearing Williamson breakup the moment was a bit irksome to Ron, but he held his tongue and kept his body planted firmly. For whatever reason he felt on alert, like he was needed to stand guard right here, right now. He kept seeing Alderbaron look at him, and the attention was astonishingly acute to his senses.

"Mr. Gravewatcher," began the interview, "My name is Auror Williamson. This is Auror Kowalski and it looks like you've met Auror Weasley. We're here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic to get your statement about the theft of nine genus of asphodel samples taken from Herbologist Longbottom on your watch -"

Harry was wrestling with sudden nerves, so more jerked to his feet than stood; he nearly lost balance. "I got the briefcase back! What are you talking about taken?"

Ron saw the confusion and anger in the Transportation Official. He also highly noticed that he was taller than expected. He'd been hunched over before, but now he stood just past Ron's shoulder.

"It was empty. The case was empty when you came through the Floo."

Harry flinched. His eyes grew fierce.

Williamson kept saying in a factual tone of voice, "You messed up. They took everything."

Harry backed up a step but hit the bed frame. He turned suddenly, looking down on Neville for confirmation. When he saw Neville's crestfallen expression, it hit him then: his first failure.

Neville cracked under the devastated look he was getting. "When I opened it back in that field...I didn't tell you then. I didn't have the chance to tell you, really! That spell that they fired at us - They were coming back for us and then all of a sudden we were splinched!"

Harry grew frustrated. "It must have happened on the train. I wouldn't have left if I knew! Nev! I could have gone after them!"

"And you would have! I know you would have, and they would have killed you! There' were too many of them!"

"I would have tried!"

"I know! That's why I didn't say anything before you Apparated us away!"

Harry looked away and stomped to the other side of Ron, putting his solid form now between him and Neville, and him and the two other Aurors. Ron even adjusted his stance, acting like a nice hard shield while he got his act together.

They were going to investigate him, but not just to get his statement...they had every right now to do a thorough look. He always knew this was a thing: a full inspection of character should product go missing while on assignment. He was an A-1 level, but he was better than the rest...close to even maybe believing that with concrete proof. They had training duels at work, ways of practicing defense and protection for the lives of the clients they transported. He wasn't even cocky; he didn't even brag about his results. But he was sure he had to be good so to keep something like this from happening.

He didn't even have a known address on file. He would need to be warranted and searched. He'd never tell them about the Unplottable cottage. He'd...never be able to go back home if they started following him.

Neville stayed sitting on the bed, but his voice penetrated Harry's thoughts; Ron's body couldn't protect him from that. "You are really good at your job, Alderbaron. Everyone knows it. But in that split second before you got us to safety...I weighed your life versus those plants and I just couldn't put you in danger like that. Not over fucking asphodel. I hate asphodel. Have I ever told you that? I may have made a career out of it, but it's the most toxic plant I've ever come across."

Harry was floored. He could almost hear his bones creek as he turned around and looked at him again. Harry was in shock, fear coursing through him. He saw also the startled looks that were shot to him by the three Aurors in the room.

It was Williamson who asked the question. His voice wasn't even all that textbook anymore. "What are you referring to? They're just used in Love potions!"

Neville looked away from his friend, back to them. "Look...maybe you can't see it, but the asphodel is a catalyst. The pollen can cause permanent alterations to certain people with sensitivity to it. It...maybe you heard the story...but it completely infixed Harry Potter when he inhaled the pollen and forced him -" Neville swallowed hard and looked - then quickly looked away - from Ron. "...it made him have such problems that he had to go into isolation for months for treatment."

The silence in the room...was deafening.

"Neville?" Harry said, the first to break the silence. All eyes turned to him, everyone now seeing the deep and urgent fear that resided there. Harry's voice was hollow as he talked. "That's why you had an A-1 with you. You said it yourself...that's why you had a very good A-1 with you. I was supposed to accompany you to all five seminars...but I was held up by a snow storm in Yamalo-Nenets and they needed to keep me there longer to complete their samples. You had two Transport Officials with you the first two times you lectured because they rank us off test scores; your crop was given a rank...it needed two other A-1s to meet that rank. Or it just needed me. I could protect your crop...if I knew it was in danger."

Harry took a step forward and stood with such a commanding aura about him that Neville was afraid to blink. Where he stood now, Harry's wrapped arm was brushing Ron's cloak.

Ron didn't move, either. He could see the fine hair's on the man's skin. Every eyelash, too. He could see his beating pulse in his bare neck. He had to tell the deeply masochistic part of his brain to go back into the hellhole it whence came or he'd hex it off the planet. He was riveting this close.

"You should have told me," Harry said in a whisper now, and it was funny that a whisper could also sound like a shout, even though it was so very soft. Ron wished he was the one being whispered to, not Neville...but about other things. "I was there to protect the product because it was a valuable batch! You had spores among the samples! You had reproducing buds that could fill a field and be harvested for hundreds of potions! Those plants were worth my life to keep out of the wrong hands!"

Harry felt his jaw lock after that. Maybe he also felt the well of fear that had finally burst, too. He looked to his left and up at Ron, and there was a test Harry knew he didn't pass, because he could see the steel edges of Ron's eyes where Ron displayed the full turmoil of everything going on within him...they were as intense as wildfire. Harry couldn't help but swallow, even though he knew there was little likelihood Ron knew the truth about his identity.

They all stood as motionless as if they had Petrified, pondering their next move.

"Finding these thieves is our highest priority," spoke at last Williamson. "We don't have time to chastise each other about our failings or feel sorry for our mistakes."

Neville was silent still, now looking at the floor and doing exactly what Williamson told him not to do: regret.

The other two Aurors turned to the paperwork for answers, although their fingers were stiff as the pages turned.

And for Ron, what Williamson said brought a deep breath out of him, one that seemed to have been stuck within him. Harry, feeling it brush against his face and feather his hair about, twitched. Ron was watching, staring at him, so Harry turned around and sat back on his bed.

He narrowed his eyes and stared elsewhere in defiance to Ron's silent request for more, more, more.

To his surprise, Ron followed him. He stood back in front of him. After a moment, Ron tapped Harry's knee with just the tip of one of his fingers. Harry's heart fluttered.

"You're a pretty serious guy."

The humor faded before it caused a response that Harry might have regretted.

"This is a big case," he replied.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, it is. It started in England last year, which is why this is being handled by the Ministry of Magic. We've had dead bodies show up from the staff at the both the Potion Institute and the Enchantment Institute. We've searched them thoroughly, but have come up with nothing for our troubles. We're relying on interagency cooperation to research the other branches of the Eight Companies of Essential Enchanting...but with budget constraints and paperwork clogs on both ends...the whole thing's crumbling around us. I'm sorry we hadn't caught the guys before they attacked you."

That last bit brought Harry up short. He straightened up and met Ron's eyes.

"Don't be sorry," Harry said before he could stop himself.

And just a second before that moment could have meant another thing to both Ron and Harry, Neville interrupted and said, "I'm the only one who should be sorry. It's all my fault."

Ron sighed, taking a step back to take them both in. He took another step back and took his place next to Williamson with the other Auror. Harry thought he saw Ron's shoulders sag a little.

"Not that simple," Ron explained clearly, using some of Hermione's words which had ingrained themselves in his head after being her partner for a year. "Aurors are like any municipal institute now; since the war ended, anyway. Funding isn't like it was, I hear. Our compounded problems of low budget and low staff is all a fallout of the war. The Ministry is focusing its efforts on rebuilding from within...overlooking the fact that there were people promised things that they didn't get, and without their Dark Lord to give it to them, they've decided to up and take what they think is theirs. If we're lucky, we save some lives. If we're good, we find the source and stop all this. It's not you, Neville. Or you...Mr. Gravewatcher. It's on us."

Harry had eyes for only Ron, so missed the looks on everyone else's faces. The Polish Auror looked a bit uncomfortable, as if Ron was some emotional new-age type that needed to talk about feelings. Williamson looked a little proud; coming from the same department, he saw this moment as a rare sight of maturity from Auror Weasley. Neville felt warm inside, thankful for the pass.

Harry just kept feeling that heart in his chest knock harder and harder.

"Excuse me?" A newcomer. The Mediwitch from before. Everyone looked her way. "It's time to treat the patient again. We'll need you to continue this at a later time and clear the room."

Her soft words were met willingly by all parties.

As Neville left the room, he was gathered into the healing arms of another Mediwizard and led away for the next part of his treatment. The Aurors went back to the waiting room, ready to fill out more paperwork about the findings of the interview so far.

"We'll need to do a thorough look into Gravewatcher," Williamson was muttering softly to the lead Polish Auror, who was nodding along and filling in his own paperwork.

Maybe it was best he wasn't the lead, Ron suddenly realized. It was rather relaxing to just be there doing the tertiary paperwork instead of filing the report that every agency was going to be reading over; his spelling wasn't that great, anyway.

The same day, late afternoon.

Ron was left behind at the hospital while Williamson went to find a room at the magical alley up the road. While away, he would Floo headquarters and brief Tonks and Moody, who would come via the Floo Network there in the wizard alley. Ron was left behind to keep his eye on the witness. They weren't given another chance in to talk with him, but the paperwork wasn't complete enough to let the guy out of their sights until it was. He didn't have a home address, his hours at work weren't set, and overall there was no reason he couldn't just disappear entirely, with no way for the Aurors to find him again. Maybe that was okay for the Herbology Institute, for the investigation it wasn't acceptable.

They kept him informed about the Transport Official's progress and said that it was nothing to worry about that their medicine was taking longer to affect him. Something about people just being different. Neville had gone home already, about the same time as the other Aurors. Ron would just have to stay for an indeterminate amount of time longer.

He sat in the quiet lobby of the hospital with the paperwork on his lap. The light was bright for such a small room, and there was quiet instrumental music playing. The room was sparsely furnished, a few magazines laying around, but Ron's mind was drifting with thoughts of the man upstairs. Thinking about how smooth his skin had looked...how exhausting lust turned out to be.

He hadn't ever had these thoughts before for another person Lust? He didn't lust for a dead friend...he missed and regretted his time lost with that ghost. With Draco Malfoy? That was that split second decision that he hardly had a say in. It was lust, yes, but it started and ended in that room. Ron hadn't gone near that Slytherin since, hadn't wanted to, either.

The patient under the care of the mediwizards and mediwitches was a sudden surprise for Ron in so many ways. And he was Neville's friend. When Neville had mentioned him all those months ago, Ron had refused to meet. He thought it was a bad idea, a stupid ploy to get him to move on, like the moves his family and other friends had so far tried on him. Neville had let it go quickly, but his disappointment was clear. And now Ron knew why: Neville had probably been the only one of the lot of them with the perfect choice for a blind date.

Blind date?

"Fucking hell..." Ron muttered under his breath, bowing his head and rubbing a hand over his head.

A door opened somewhere and voices were drawing nearer. Someone had been discharged and was coming forward to sign out. Ron had seen this a few times already. There was a good chance this was Alderbaron, so Ron gathered his things and stood up expectantly. He wasn't disappointed. The mediwitch and Alderbaron came out.

His shirt was back on, but up his neck and past his left sleeve the bandages could still be seen. He had a broom strap hung loosely across his chest, clipped to the back of it was a Firebolt. He was also holding some paperwork - probably a copy of his medical treatment.

When they saw each other, both took a deep breath.

"You'll be discharged into the Auror's custody," said the mediwitch calmly, still going towards the desk and taking up a set of papers that were handed to her.

"What for?" Alderbaron asked, fortifying himself for a fight, maybe?

Ron saw the suspicion in his eyes, then.

"That's just what we've been told to do," replied the mediwitch.

"I need to get a little more information from you," Ron clarified in a quiet voice.

"Come over here, Mr. Gravewatcher. We need your signature and to go over a follow-up visit with you," said the mediwitch. "That was a nasty splinch, so keep your healing bandages on for two days. They'll make you drowsy, so you'll have to stay off your broom and don't be surprised if you want to sleep a lot."

Ron walked up to wait near the exit until they finished at the desk. He wondered if Alderbaron would allow their arms to brush again, how vulnerable that had made him and how long he might be able to resist? His eyes glittered as he thought about his fingers running against the light brown strands of his hair, the length so perfectly stroking Alderbaron's own shoulders. He imagined eyes darkening with lust and his erection pressed against something warm.

Alderbaron's shoes never made a sound as he walked up to Ron. Pity, as Ron could have used the warning.

"Where are we going?" he asked the Auror.

Ron couldn't help but lick his lips. Merlin, but his mind wasn't in the game.

Ron held the door open instead of speaking. He was pretty sure if he said anything his voice would have been unrecognizable.

Out on the quiet Muggle street, the two of them striding towards what they both knew was the magical alley. Harry had been there before, of course. He'd been so many places. The entry was a little back door in another pub, the typical cover for the magical community. Ron again held the door open for Harry.

"I know this place," Harry said casually, stepping in and taking in the heavy theme of Quidditch throughout the place. "They have good drinks on tap."

"Probably skip the drinks. Not so good for a patient right out of the hospital," Ron said casually.

The two of them slipped into a booth near the back. Ron sat across from his charge, not taking his eyes off him. The discomfort returned just then, Ron noticed.

"I just have a few questions," Ron continued. "After them, do you need me to escort you home? Make sure you make it there in one piece?"

Harry signed. It was a long moment of thought in which he looked imminently in need of an early bedtime.

"You know, I don't really want to go home."

Ron looked at him curiously for a moment. Harry's eyes had softened to a degree that would have been sweet, if he hadn't just looked back up at Ron with his heart projecting out just then. Ron didn't question - couldn't justify at all - the sheer suggestion he read in those eyes.

The bar had rooms above. This was where his superior was housed right at this moment. Ron left the table and got a room, conversing enough with the booking wizard to make sure it was on a different level than Williamsons'.

Upstairs, Ron let Harry in first, holding the door again like it was less than manners and more about being his very purpose in life.

One bed. One big bed with dark sheets. The booking wizard had a keen eye.

The rest of the room was furnished in the same sort of dark fabric, patterned like old curtains. The furniture was thick and heavy warm wood. There was only one small window, but whatever was outside didn't matter to the two of them.

Harry had taken three steps in and was just standing there looking at the bed. He heard the door close and the latch click, and then he just waited.

When Ron came up behind him, the same moment his hands landed lightly on his hips, his lips landed softly on Harry's neck. Harry closed his eyes and arched his neck back, leaning his weight fully into Ron's body. Ron wrapped his arms carefully around Harry from behind, kissing up to his ear and over onto his cheek. Harry turned his head and their lips met softly.

"Are you going to regret this?" Ron whispered.

Harry hummed softly, shaking his head. Their eyes met, and Ron turned them to face each other.

"I won't hurt you," Ron declared, holding Harry's face and looking fierce as he proclaimed this. "I promise. We're strangers - only just met - but I'm not going to do anything you don't want to do. I'm an Auror with the Brittish Ministry of Magic. I'll surrender to the Dementors if I do anything to hurt you."

Harry flung his arms around Ron's neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

Ron wasn't over the trauma of their childhood, then. Harry was heartbroken to discover.

Harry's jacket was the first thing to come off, followed by Ron's. Their lips never parted until the buckles on their pants were undone, open and shoved low on the hips. Harry's bandages came next. He didn't feel like he needed them, and started unwrapping them. Ron helped.

"You'll heal more slowly without these," Ron muttered.

"They're laced. I'm going to crash asleep before we get to the good stuff."

Ron stopped complaining. He noted the lethargy of the words, though.

Now free of the binds that now were nothing but a pile of ribbon on the floor, Ron took him up again in a deep kiss and brought him to the bed. Harry scooched up and Ron straddled him, laying him down and hovering over his thrumming body. Ron lingered on his mouth, tongue filling him, hands roaming over the naked planes of his torso, sweeping over parts of him that he so desired to touch.

And below him, Harry was blissfully content. The hot flesh, the firm body of the long lost friend who was the infatuation of his life. Harry might have considered he was still polluted with asphodel pollen if he wasn't mistaken...but he'd wanted this before then. There was at last something that realigned in Harry's brain, creating a perfect picture in his mind: him and Ron together at last.

Harry broke the kiss slowly, sighing.

Ron settled his head onto Harry's shoulder, taking his time to think about all of this.

"Thank you for coming up here," Ron said in a whisper, kissing over Harry's heart.

Harry ran his hands through Ron's hair, feeling drowsiness take hold. He knew it wasn't very sexy, but sleep was imminent.

He barely had the energy to reply, "I feel like I've always been here."

Sleep was about to take him, Ron was sure of that. Before it did, he got a grip of him under his arms and heaved him up to the pillows. There was a blanket at the foot of the bed that Ron raised now, pulling it up over the both of them. Ron settled next to him, looking now at the sleeping form. He didn't have to worry about waking him; he had crashed hard.

He lay his head in the crook of his bedmate's neck and his arm across his chest, then closed his eyes for the night.

In the early hours of morning, before the sun, before the rest of the world awoke.

Ron was wrapped around him. The sun hadn't risen but there was lamplight out the single window, granting a shred of vision to him. Harry, in the gloom, was looking at his arm that rested over Ron's hand. The potions he had taken the day before had faded, and his scars were visible.

He lazed there awake as his best friend held him, both of them turned on their left sides. A worry creased his brow...because what? Was he going to hide still from Ron? Sneak off? Stay away forever like Peter Pettigrew had? Go get more potions and come back and make love to Ron as a fake person? For all Ron knew he was Alderbaron Gravewatcher, and wasn't that just as bad as what Draco had done all those years ago: made a person resemble someone loved and take advantage in this way?

Harry was thinking about how Ron was going to react for all these years, and wasn't that telling? He'd always thought he would return. Always thought Ron would find out somehow. Always knew he'd find himself on the receiving end of the result of years of playing dead.

Well, this was the time that it would happen. He wasn't going to fight it.

Harry sighed in resignation, and somehow that penetrated Ron's sleep. Ron's breathing changed from deep and rhythmic to shallow.

"Awake?" Harry whispered.

Ron's body stretched. He nodded and grunted intelligibly.

"Me, too."

How was he going to do this? Directly? But that was so tactless...this all was so tactless.

Ron had no idea he was laying with someone who was already in love with him, and was being gentle. The person's bare skin in his grasp was precious, an honor to have part of. He rubbed his hand over the minimal hair on Harry's chest, feeling the thump of his heart within, feeling a slight raised line of flesh...

Ron was still half asleep and sighed deeply again, but he was rousing. His hand stopped, loosely resting over a soft welt, a raised scar where Voldemort's torture had pierced. This scar spread from his right pectoral to under his arm.

Harry felt the ache begin to really tear at his heart, because as Ron made a second and third drowsy pass over the scar, he knew that's when the clastalistic moment began.

"What's this?" Ron muttered against the back of his head, against his soft hair.

"Scar," Harry whispered.

"Hmm..."

Ron felt down his chest, fingers moving leisurely, finding another welt in the soft place below Harry's ribs. A matching one was several inches lower, where the hook had pierced and exited.

"Another one," Harry answered the silent question.

Ron's hand left Harry's torso, found his arm for safer passage, and slid along it towards Harry's wrist, fingers curling around and sensing a number of new ridges. At last, Ron opened his eyes, gripping Harry's arm slackly and holding it up towards the dim light from the window as he raised his head for a squinting look. His large hand could wrap whole around Harry's arm.

"Can you see okay?" Harry asked.

"Hmm...not really..." Ron's voice hummed again.

Ron let his sensitive fingertips trail down over the inside of Harry's arm, where an old abrasion he got from back in their school-hood days had happened. But without sight to match up to this moment, Ron was blessed with another few seconds of ignorance.

He chose his own fate when he made a large movement to reach forward, reach for the chain that turned the table lamp on. The zing of electricity ignited the bulb, and perhaps it was too harsh this early and what with being just awoken, because it burned both their eyes. Ron squinted out from under his lids first.

His bedmate was so close to his body that it obscured his vision of most of him. He knew he wore his pants and shoes under the blanket that was pushed down to his waist. But with his shirt off, Ron had a good view of his shoulder and arm. His head was tucked away, hair helping to hide him.

His shoulder is what he saw first, where there was a small round welt next to a straight line that descended three inches. Ron's eyes traveled over his toned bicep and he caught sight of the inside of his forearm next. There was a long scar down it lengthwise, with four spots scattered about around it. How had he missed it yesterday? Ron's feather light touch, not commanding at all, held his wrist so he could examine until comprehension would come.

Ron was slow in his groggy state, but Harry helped out...he opened his hand part way, displaying the vertical lined scar that adorned the palm of his hand. Then, turning it around, Ron got a view of four more doted scars on the back of his forearm, as well as he could see the back of Harry's palm. There, a most unique scar...the one from years ago that derived from Umbridge's detention. I must not tell lies.

Ron let go and sat up instantly.

Harry took his arm back and curled it under him, staying curled away from Ron's sight.

But Ron was seeing now the damage done to the back of the person next to him. What had felt like smooth skin last night was now a torrent of small lines. More three inch marks, more little dots. A half dozen of one and a baker's dozen of the other.

"You remember what you said?" Harry whispered.

"I've said a lot...?" Ron was clearly on the edge of panic and true understanding, because his breath was heaving and his tone of voice was strained.

"How you'd do anything for me?"

Ron's mouth dropped. He reached out, hesitated for a moment, then laid his shaking hand over Harry's shoulder. Harry felt the heat of his palm and the firmness of his grasp. It slowly laid him out on his back.

Their eyes met. Blue on green.

In the light of the table lamp, Ron's eyes ate him alive. They lingered on the line that scratched itself across his face. They didn't once even need to see the scar that adorned his forehead; it was enough without that.

Slowly Ron began to shake his head. Then his body fled the bed, taking the blanket with him. Their eyes never broke contact.

Ron had kicked his shoes off. He now stood on sock covered feet, in his work pants, hands clenched, mind racing, but frozen.

Harry sat up very slowly and swung his legs down, his shoes once again not making a sound as they touched the floor. Harry's voice was almost begging when he said, "Then will you keep your word? Will you do anything for me still?"

"You're...?"

Harry nodded in agreement.

Ron took another step back.

Harry stood up slowly. Ron's eyes roved over him again - locking onto the mark that snaked around his neck - but it was as if Harry were the most unfathomable creature alive.

"...not real."

Harry rocked his head. He hated to disagree, though.

"No...you wouldn't..." ...do that to me. Ron's voice was rumbling a little louder.

The ghost of Ron's words cut Harry deep. Harry could do nothing but look helpless. "Forgive me. That's what I want from you - "

"You wouldn't!" No matter how Ron protested, how desperately he protested, the fact remained the same. He did.

Harry had to explain a little more. He spoke slowly, carefully. "It had to be this way. I'd already been thought dead for weeks by the time I really came out of it."

"What?! Out of - " Ron covered his mouth in his hand, shaking his head. At last, one word remained in his vocabulary, "How?!"

Harry didn't hesitate. He could see the tiny twitches of Ron's hand - his wand hand - and his eyes had glanced over to where he'd left that wand on the bedside table. Harry knew there weren't many chances that Ron would likely blow a hole in his head, but he needed to start giving him the truth really quick anyway.

"Narcissa Malfoy is the who, why, and how of it. I found a way to escape, found a place to hide where even the Ministry couldn't find me. It was pure luck that I didn't bleed to death, but Nagini had wrapped half her body around me and compressed my wounds, keeping them closed enough. Narcissa said when she peeled her corpse off me, that it left her scaly skin behind."

And her venom had been acid on his skin. The long sweeping scar down his jaw and around his neck the subtle drip from her fangs.

Harry hadn't asked for any more details. Narcissa babied him at first halfway because he needed it, and halfway because she did, too. She needed the blood off her hands, finding that keeping Harry alive was the way to do that.

The moment lasted long as what little Harry said was digested by Ron's churning brain. It didn't hinder the anger and pain that was looming on the surface, though.

Ron's voice was loud. "Tell me why you didn't tell me! Me?! Didn't you remember who I was?!"

Harry took this first wave of anger well, because he deserved it. He lowered his gaze to the floor, a tight expression forming.

"Don't you remember the end?" Harry looked up again after saying this. He let his words hang, then his voice raised an octave. "Don't you? I was done thinking about the future. Done completely in saving the world from the Dark Lord. He killed my parents, Sirius, others...and he had you and was going to kill you, too. But I got you out of there...and I kept thinking...maybe the next time I wouldn't be able to save you. Maybe this time was my last chance. It wouldn't even matter if it killed me, so long as I could end the war then maybe -"

"No!" Ron shouted and turned away, not wanting to hear the end of this.

"Yes!" Harry yelled just as loudly, demanding that Ron listen to him. "It wasn't really my choice at first! With me dead the war was over, and Narcissa needed the war to be over! If I suddenly showed up alive, then who else would be coming back, too?! And - and - " Harry took a step forward, hands gripping the fabric of his pants for anything that could give him purchase on this planet. "- and I didn't have to ever save anyone again! Everyone got hurt because of me! Everyone was going to get themselves killed - one way or another - if I was still around! With me gone then the curse was broken, wasn't it?!"

Ron reared forward and grabbed him, but not painfully. He wrapped Harry in his arms and squeezed him tightly, hugging him fiercely.

Harry gripped him back as the first of his tears spilled.

The moment grew silent again.

Harry didn't want to break the silence too badly, so he spoke softly. "She found me three days later. I had been in and out of consciousness...I hardly knew my own name. I was a mess. I was broken. She spent months putting me back together. I always remembered you, Ron. I just...couldn't remember myself."

Ron squeezed him tighter still.

Harry kept explaining.

"By the time I really knew what was going on around me, you already graduated sixth year. They'd already buried me...you already believed... If I came back at all - even in the beginning - then people would have to wonder if Voldemort was going to come back again, too. The war would never end. People would always believe he was still alive. I didn't want that."

"Stop it," Ron whispered against his neck. "Stop making excuses. You stupid - stupid fucking - stupid - "

Harry turned them both. It was almost easy how willing Ron was to be lowered down to the bed, how compliantly he went. There, laying on his back, Ron grasped his face in both hands, holding him and looking up at his stupid living friend longingly, with tears dripping down the corners of his eyes. Harry couldn't apologize again, because it hurt too much to remind himself that he really could have told Ron; he always knew where he was. He really could have eased his pain.

"Don't be angry," Harry whispered.

"I'm angry, Harry. I'm so fucking angry I can barely breathe."

He really was so stupid.

Half naked men weren't Ron's specialty, but he'd felt Harry's hands palm his chest, the tip of a pad of a finger cover his nipples, then they slid up and around his shoulders. They were strong and graceful hands that tangled in his short red hair.

Ron's eyes shut, but even then he felt like he could see so clearly. He reached forward and ran his hand over Harry's face. Harry reached forward and did the same. He pressed forward and spread his body against the other. Ron rolled and Harry rolled below him.

"You are handsome," Harry told him, running his hands over Ron's back.

Ron felt himself warm up as if embarrassed, but there was something also unfamiliar about it. Ron looked at his mouth. He'd kissed him hours ago, when he knew him by another name, so at this moment he had an odd feeling of knowing what it looked like to be kissed by that mouth, but not knowing what it felt like. Harry put his hand around Ron's head and pulled him in.

Ron came gently forward and closed his eyes, and all that was left in his world was Harry's mouth pressed against his.

And then Harry spread his legs out, digging his hips upward, rubbing his arousal along him. Ron felt that. He felt it raise his blood pressure and make his head swim. He hadn't expected it to come on so strongly. Ron pressed his hips down, and Harry opened, let all the weight settle where it would make both of them fill and swell. They could smell the rising sweat on each other's skin, feel each other's heartbeats, and both gained a matching flush.

Sticky wet lips soon led to two dry mouths. Ron broke the kiss first, pressing his cheek against Harry's and just breathing deeply.

"Are you going to disappear on me?" Ron asked.

"Do you want me to?"

He still didn't quite comprehend what he saw. The man in his bed was the same as the one laying on that hospital bed, as the one who Neville had talked about, as the one who had been living all these years here - or near - this foreign land. So far away, but still on planet Earth.

"No," Ron signed. "Don't leave me again."

They rubbed, hands running all over, the pleasure growing and on the way to being over the edge. When Harry started to shake, Ron stopped to ask if he was okay, but he saw it clearly then: there weren't tears in his eyes like with psudo-Ron in Hogwarts. Harry today wasn't frightened like he was back then. He was sure of himself, eager, willing. So, Ron planted another hot kiss and took his place on the list of people who could make Harry Potter fall over the edge.

The end.

Preview of the next long chapter that'll eventually end this story for real.

"Ron is bringing him over?" Asked Molly Weasley in a high-pitched voice to her husband.

Arthur nodded, sorry to be the one to break this news to her. "He told me when I saw him in the hall at work today."

Molly tossed the bowl with the cake batter down, sending out a loud tin clang into the Burrow. She was hosting Ron's birthday party, yes; all her children were going to be coming, yes; spouses were welcome to join, yes. But Ron bringing a date was too much!

"I should be happy my youngest son has found someone!" She shouted angrily. "I should be welcoming whoever he has chosen into my house! It's not that Ron has chosen a man to date, Arthur," she emphasized this point very clearly, "it's that he has chosen a suspect from that big theft case! A suspect who the Auror Department now cannot investigate because one of their own - YOUR SON - chose to sleep with him before they cleared him! Alastair Moody told Bill that he had to wash his eye off when he spotted them in the middle of it the morning they had gone to the inn to meetup with Ron and his partner! Have I told you that?!"

Arthur pulled the morning paper closer to his face, blocking the grin that broke out. He kept his voice neutral, "Yes, dear. I believe Bill told me that, too."

"That stupid boy! He's bringing home a criminal!"

~Fin